C ( 



r g 






J A HIE 3 VILA ft 1, .4 Hi; 




class _j£§Uioa_ 

Book i& tJIS 



Copyright N?.. 



riQ4- 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



DISCOVERIES 

JAMES VILA BLAKE 



1904 
THOMAS P. HALPIN & CO, 

54-56 Custom House Place 
CHICAGO 









3 1904 

0onvrt«rht Entrv 

CLASS C^ XXo. No. 

1 60PY B 



Copyright 1904 

By JAMES VILA BLAKE 

CJy£|t>, Illinois 



Dedicated to 
FRAULEIN JULIE M. E. HINTERMEISTER 



If I unto a golden light 

Offered my book, 

Should I not look 
With care, and by a humble sight 
Compare and measure my work's right 

Against that light ? 
Why, so I do, in offering thee, 
With reverent love, this work o* me. 

Thou art that light : 

Hath my book right 
So loflily inscribed to be ? 

Ah no, and no : 

I only trow, 
By thy sweet kindness, that above 
Thou wilt lift up my book in love, 

And give it rest, 
Albeit so 'lis too much blest. 

J. V. B. 



FOREWORD 

The poet discovered that lie can find no good title but " Discov- 
eries," and asketh leave of rare Ben. 

Rare Ben, thou art so massy in thy girth — 
I mean not now thy paunch rotund, rare Ben, 
But thy rich mind's estate, which like the earth 
With blossoms teems, the darlings of thy pen — 
That 'tis not criminal to pluck thy flowers, 
Nor what I ever gather can defraud thee ; 
Nay, as a forest in midsummer hours, 
The hand that plucketh most the most doth laud thee. 
In thy wide shadow (mindly meant) made I 
Discovery of thy " Discoveries," 
And in that same warm lea I now apply 
That happy title to my auguries. 

In favor let thine ample ghost down look, 

With thine Apollo lads, upon my book. 



DISCOVERIES 



D I S C O V E R I E S 



I. 

The poet discovercth the "melodies of morn" at a neighboring 
tarn, and observcth with what glistening beauty water decoratcth the 
earth. 

Awake ! Away ! Out into the midcTe o' the mere ! 
Shy Day dips in, then maiden-mannered spyeth; 
And Night, swart lover, following aye in fear, 
Now from her streamy form and dripping beauties flyeth 
The birds hold showery matins, hailing the light 
With warbling tribes. From bosky tops to rushes, 
No sleepy bud i' the mass nor lazy bight 
F the stem but lacquered is by misty brushes. 
Each trunk or branch or twig or leaf or thorn 
A silver sheeny pearly vapor fameth; 
From fern or grass or reed or rose or corn 
Fall twinkling jewels crimson morning flameth. 

Who drowseth late doth waste the flood of day; 

O, out into the middle o' the mere ! Awake ! Away ! 



DISCOVERIES 



The poet discovereth that health of soul lieth in continuing to 
wish good things, though we cannot have them nor even longer 
hope for them. 

I say, no matter what I am possessing, 
'Tis but some mass of things heaped here by chance, 
Having small might for sport and none for blessing, 
Being only outward-gilded circumstance. 
I say, nor boots what eager wit may hope: 
'Tis but possession by a forelook cunning, 
Which can as little with the spirit cope 
As giant riches can in noon's eye sunning. 
But what I wish, that is my breath and power; 
And that indeed I wish, 'tis matter vital; 
And that I wish unfainting, 'tis my dower 
Of worship of things good, my soul's requital. 

Worship is life: what recks to hope or hold ? 

Sweet wishing when hope 's dead, that 's worship's 
gold. 



10 



DISCOVERIES 



III 

The poet discovereth still further that in unextinguishable wishes 
lie the qualities and virtues of life. 

How many things I wish but have not them — 
As to win loves, to travel earth anon, 
To print my scrip, to put gold glory on, 
And handle and toss riches like a gem. 
But night-foul malcontent I do contemn, 
And reason it soundly, till a beam hath shone 
To give day's substance to my wishes wan, 
And wake fair winds that grumbling torrent stem. 
First to glad goods I have I will apply; 
For the lacking others, I will be no churl, 
But want them roundly, with heart wide and big. 
Yon swine may jewels lack as well as I — 
That marks us either; not to want the pearl, 
Knowing but provender, that marks the pig. 



11 



DISCOVERIES 



IV. 

The poet discovereth that not in difficulties or hard things he most 
needeth his Comrade, for he needeth her most in the deepest experi- 
ence, and joy is the deepest. 

In pleasures fine 'tis most my heart doih heed thee, 
And most I heed when best those pleasures are; 
For like a morn, light greets thee from afar, 
And in fine matters I first see, then need thee. 
Joy wakes me sad, as if sweet dreams then freed thee, 
That did confine thee with a golden bar, 
Which broken now, the joys troop in to mar 
Thy precious presence and away to speed thee; 
Not messengers to thee my sorrows march — 
I stormy pain can meet companionless, 
Nay, may deny thee in my care about thee; 
But sunny joy doth all my soil o'er -parch, 
If lacking rain of thee, and strike th' excess 
Of solitary plight, to be without thee. 



12 



DISCOVERIES 



V. 

The poet discovereth that a fine picked-up salad set before him 
hath flavor both of the excellent left-over vegetables, and of the 
cook's skill and love therewith. 

O salad monslrous fine ! Methinks so deft 
A kickshaw ne'er compounded was, so rare 
Sweet thrift of vetches from first tables left, 
Which now a finer second flavor bear. 
First, gathered all, in vinegar they steep, 
From which an edge of fine persuation came; 
Then soon the amber drops that olives weep 
Impart an oil of smoothness to the same. 
In this good souse they lie awhile, to drink 
The fine duo of flavors like a song; 
Which then through peas and beans and lettuce sink, 
Pervade their slates and to their meats belong. 

Then dash of eager condiments it took; 

But seasoned mosl with grace of gentle cook. 



13 



DISCOVERIES 



VI. 

The poet discovereth joyfully that when he hath no virtues where- 
by to claim his Comrade's dear love, he attracteth it the more by his 
need of it. 

"AgainSt that time, if ever that lime come, 

When I shall see thee frown on my defects,"* 

This will I say, which is my utmost sum, — 

That I am needy in thy pure respects. 

O, not my right, my need is all my claim; 

Thy any frown doth sterner frowns up-seal; 

For seeing my ill, love hath his perfect aim, 

In habitation dear to save and heal. 

What were my state if love must love by right, 

Or must have other reason than itself; 

If thy sweet love-eyed virtue had a sight 

To count my worths and barter as for pelf ? 

To love poor me thou hast love's "strength of laws, 
Since why to love I can allege no cause." 



* Shakespeare, Sonnet XLIX. 



14 



DISCOVERIES 



VII. 

The pcet discovereth that it is a sad and dreadful thing to have 
rule over men, to be able to compel them, but a very sweet thing to 
be able to draw them. 

'Tis terrible to wield will over men, 
As thus to say, Do this, and do 't he must; 
Be thus or so, Come, Go, — and none robust 
To dare but crook the knees submissive then. 
Say 'tis avoidless state, and sad with ken 
Of awfulness, fear, prayers to be just, 
With humbleness, O still, still 'tis some dust 
Priding o'er other some of road or fen. 
I say, let no man bow or quake to me, 
Or on my judging hang pallid and trembling, 
The while this fellow clay sits crowned or gowned: 
But O, how blest if 1 prevail to be 
A love that draweth men to dear assembling, 
By song persuaded and by reason bound. 



15 



DISCOVERIES 



VIII. 

The poet discovereth that no man's sleep-life can be better or 
worse than his waking life, and he blesseth the presence of his Com- 
rade in his soul. 

When Captain sleep comes leading up his troops, 
To take the doughty fortress of my mind, 
And all my jocund liberties he coops, 
As they were caught beleaguered walls behind, 
Then doth he summon me to meek surrender, 
Adding to warlike show a promise sweet 
For my dear liberties foregone to render 
Riches of dreams and such-like profits meet; 
But if I will not yield, but still hold out, 
Then doth he threaten vengeful furies dire, 
And ugly imps to whirl my soul about. 
But thus I do defy his boasting ire: 

What 's full with good he cannot pack with ill, 
And day or night my soul thy love doht fill. 



16 



DISCOVERIES 



IX. 

The poet discovereth how very great a riches of love admiration is, 
and what sorrow arriveth if love be defrauded of the right to admire. 

O gladness 'tis, and wealthiness, to mure 
A golden admiration in the mind: 
'Tis mightiness, 'tis miracle, to bind 
Up sum so rich as doth both spend and dure. 
Most potent 'tis, and jocund thing, this pure 
Infection in this sweet unthrifty kind: 
Prevention 'tis, or remedy, 'gainst blind 
And stale contagion from the self -secure. 
E'en though th' admiring heart unseasoned be 
With love, most richely still that heart is joyed 
That 's generous so, as fountains radiantly 
Spread drops that are their being. But love that 's void 
Justly of this exhaled sweet, doth see 
His natural bliss or widowed or destroyed. 



17 



DISCOVERIES 



X. 

The poet discovereth that the brighter his Comrade shineth, the 
less needeth he to feel abashed or sorry with his dimness beside her; 
and yet again he falleth into grief at his little worthiness. 

Unless some wanton folly stale my guess, 
I am as worthy thee as any one — 
As worthy thee as any one could bless 
Thee in the marriage that our souls have done. 
Nor so need I with forwardness profess, 
Since worthy thee are very few or none, 
Since worthy thee are few or none that less 
Me more than stars each other 'fore the sun. 
O why, I say, should I with failure pine 
Where all must fail, or why becloud my soul? 
O why, indeed, not let my heart in thine 
Live by thy love, unquestioning and whole ? 
And yet not so; to thee I never come 
But, joyed for me, for thee grief makes me dumb. 



18 



DISCOVERIES 



XI. 

The poet discovereth that he doth well to prance and skip. He 
loveth good foolery, fine nonsense, and the like, and approveth his 
own "antic disposition." 

I put no "antic disposition on," 

Because 'tis so, and I the motley wear me 

Ever by inward straight caparison, 

Singular only if I gravely bear me. 

Ye "grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt" renowns, 

Avaunt ! Begone, leathern dullness of books — 

Except sweet comedies ! Grow dust, ye gowns 

That sprinkle silken state and solemn looks ! 

Skip not the lambs i' the meadow? — tell me that: 

If I skip not, ha ! lack I not their grace ? 

Is th' lion Latined under his tufty hat? 

Then lacks not Latin the strong lion's pace ? 
Nay, tell not me, best wit is th' antique folly 
O' the ancient earth, before art's melancholy. 



1" 



DISCOVERIES 



XII. 

The poet, who loveth the theatre with reverence, discovereth 
therein a similitude for the many quirks and quips, as well as pathetic 
fervors withal, of that merry deep- heart, his Comrade. 

Tell me, sweet actor in that curtained space 
Which is my heart, if in thy laughing clevers, 
Or if in love, which equal binds and severs, 
Thou occupy full-freedomed in that space: 
Tell me, with thy dear mark of merry face, 
If thou forecast and welcome fond forevers, 
Or say if thou canst prophesy true nevers 
To playing out love's dialog apace. 
Like a good actor in a noble part, 
Your heart 's the heat that in your rages glows, 
And you are more than all the roles you quit: 
Thy heart being what is great in love's great art, 
My heart 's thy stage where all thy genius shows, 
And when thy love is on, I live in it. 



20 



DISCOVERIES 



XIII. 

The poet discovereth what a radiant and glorious being a tree is. 

Behold, and see it by its might accept 
Three majesties from Nature's treasury: 
The first is strength, wherein it forth hath stept 
To challenge hurricanes victoriously. 
The next is beauty, suppleness and shape, 
Wherewith the branches wave, and every tip 
Is vagrancy that grace doth mend or drape, 
The while upon the gale they fly or dip. 
The last is blooms, like opals on a globe 
Of emerald. No jewels e'er clay and fires 
Composed have broidered so on such a robe 
Of green such blaze of tints in points and spires. 
This 'tis to live in deep; this 'tis to be 
That glory and covenant of the earth, a tree. 



21 



DISCOVERIES 



XIV. 

The poet discover eth again as never before "what a thought of 
God it was when he conceived a tree." 



O, what a breathing creature ! How he doth drink 
The wind ! With what a rapture flings his arms, 
And races on the air ! — the while he charms 
The earth in which his foot doth grapple and sink ! 
'Tis sure he looks to heaven, sure he doth think 
O' the sun, sure doth mark to fend alarms 
From busy -singing friends, and ward from harms 
Them all on whom his flowery eyelids wink. 
O, come to me, strong thing ! For well I know 
I go but part to thee, and thou dost move 
From thy firm tread to meet me in the way: 
Come to me, mighty being ! Yet wait, that so 
I run and kiss thy foot, as doth behoove, 
Under thine arms to hark and love and pray. 



22 



DISCOVERIES 



XV. 

The poet discovereth that the soul of a true lover is like a jewel 
in a box, to-wit, the body. The box weareth out with long carriage 
of the jewel, yet the precious stone is no older than before. This 
similitude itself were good matter for a song; but herein is sung in 
another way that love's song hath no end. 

"Our love was new and then but in the spring, 
When I was wont to greet it with my lays; 
As Philomel in summer's front doth sing, 
And stops her pipe in growth of riper days."* 
But stops not mine, — in sooth I pipe the more 
For that my love to thee hath grown twice old, 
Once by the years, and once by state before, 
Aged by virtue ere the years were told. 
O, if, I say, my love is twice a sea, 
Once by the length of voyage to traverse it, 
And once by under-depth where'er I be, 
Then song or first or last is equal fit. 

How can I cease my lays to thee to bring ? 

If soon, sweet new, if late, deep love I sing. 



Shakespeare, Sonnet CII. 



23 



DISCOVERIES 



XVI. 

The poet discover eth that two blessed jcys ever attend him; but 
of these, one is exceedingly the greater and dearer. 

There be some things we never have enow: 
Such is my love's most dear and gentle hand, — 
The which the more I have the more I vow 
That it and song all other joys have spanned. 
If I be well, a song must celebrate it; 
If ill, it is a song must make me well; 
If I do good, I must have song to mate it; 
If bad, a song must lift me where I fell. 
And if I love my love, what pen but song 
Can be my wings of heart unto her ear? 
And if my love love me, what speech as strong 
To make me that most holy silence hear? 

Now which, of love and song, most rich may be ? 

'Tis love ! Song may be sole, love ties with thee. 



24 



•D I S C O V E R I E S 



XVII. 

The poet discovered anew the text, "Enter thou into the joy of 
thy Lord." 

O, what a streaming glory of the earth, 
What freshet, this exuberance of joy ! 
'Tis torrents, and doth every thing destroy 
That can be swept away and is no worth. 
Bliss hath no question of its place or birth, 
Nor chooseth, — 'tis at home with girl or boy, 
With women, nor with doughty men is coy; 
Free of all presences this orient mirth. 
Hold ! Hark ! The glorious battle of bliss 
That tops the musical frolic — how it rang ! 
Soft ! Hush ! Th' imperial jubilant kiss 
O' the love-discoursing zephyr — how it sang ! 
Go to ! Go to ! The earth makes full of this, 
Since the orb trembled and the first morning sprang. 



DISCOVERIES 



XVIII. 

The poet discovereth that his Comrade, however far absent, re- 
proacheth him sorely and instantly if he do any ill. 

"Is it thy spirit that thou send'st from thee 
So far from home, into my deeds to pry, 
To find out shames and idle hours in me, 
The scope and tenor of thy jealousy?"* 
I ne'er am far from home, nor from thee far, 
Which were a world from home; nor cruel gleam 
Of jealousy e'er cutting from that star 
Which is thine eye at night, to me doth seem; 
But in that night which is my any shame, 
With sharp reproof thy present loving sight 
Doth tenderly enrich me with my blame, 
And strip me, every subterfuge in spite. 
For nothing can I do or ill or weak, 
But reckoning thee swift penalty doth wreak. 



Shakespeare, Sonnet LXI. 



26 



DISCOVERIES 



XIX. 

The poet discovereth that, as in the Eternity of God "a thousand 
years are but as a day," yea, "but as yesterday when it is past," so 
to the infinity of love the "City of the Great King" is a small place, 
and all citizens thereof live next door. 

I can not seek sweet wilds, nor wander free, 
Because next door a little child is dying 
For lack of woodland air, and woefully 
The poor folk mourn the babe with grievous crying: 
I can not frolic with you, Winter gay, 
For little ones freeze bitterly next door, 
And next-next door some starve, Want's wasted prey, 
With hunger quaked who shook with cold before. 
But what, say ye, and what is this strange thing, 
That thrice next door such ireful torments hit ? 
Hast thou three doors, all next, of suffering, 
And three, all next, where these pitched horrors sit? 

Ay, friend, 'tis so — think it no conjury; 

'Tis every door divinely "next" must be. 



DISCOVERIES 



XX. 

The poet discovereth, by sight of a splendid crimson sun on the 
horizon, a similitude of his Comrade, of his reverence for her, and 
of her bending unto his love. 

When th' upward sun is flaming from day's top, 
It is too fierce and fiery for the eye ; 
It will not bate one brand, one blaze deny, 
Nor one hot prong from its corona lop. 
From burning altitude it will not drop, 
Nor less its concave brass the heavens doth dye, 
Like opened furnace doors ; so hath the sky 
No hospice then where tender sight may stop. 
But when on low bright edge his chin he stays, 
Like wanton boy that 's clinging on a fence, 
Then is he mild, soft, generous, hued for viewing : 
When low, full fair, when high, enriched his ways, — 
As dazzled I adore thee far up hence, 
Yet here thou stoop'st, sweet, loving, plain for wooing. 



28 



DISCOVERIES 



XXI. 

The poet discovereth that there is naught so real, or of so great 
might, as the ideal which he dreameth in his soul. 

I dream : Whate'er doth hap or seem, 
Whate'er I do or not — 'tis one : 
I never did what I would fain have done ; 
And when it falieth short — I dream. 
I love : it lifts me not above ; 
The heart o' me is halt; — 'tis vain: 
To think or sing or pray or preach I strain, 
But only come to this — to love. 
Hope, sight, deeds, away they fly, 
Far fly, — I can not follow so : 
Strive, run, leap, or launch me high, 
All 's fault,— I still am left below. 

Yet naught doth vanish from me, only seem : 

For this in full 's my real, what I dream. 



29 



DISCOVERIES 



XXII. 

The poet discovereth humbly, wonderingly, gratefully, that his 
love of his Comrade awaketh in him powers beyond all he hath 
known or could conceive in himself. 

O, "what I feel, across the inferior features 

Of what I am, doth flash"* a light and power : 

Methinks all grand and reasonable creatures 

Convene to bless me in this votive hour. 

Yet what I am from what I feel ariseth : 

Doth he know beauty who with it burneth not ? 

If with some greatness one his soul surpriseth, 

Be sure 'tis passion first, what he hath got. 

But how bring this unto a proper tally ? 

That I am poor, yet richly feel, I know ; 

Yet know as well that from my love do rally 

All the rich parts I am, and rank them so. 

Here is the gossamer mends this torn agreeing, — 
That thee to love is a great sum of being. 



* Mrs. Browning, "Sonnets from the Portuguese," X. 



30 



DISCOVERIES 



XXhl. 

The poet discovereth for himself in love what once he heard a 
preacher say in a sermon, to wit "It is not necessary to be loved, but 
it is very necessary to love. 

Two thoughts do vie in me for mastery, 
And I surrender if but either bid, 
So taught with most assailing irony 
What steely links love's golden freedom hid. 
First I do think, with all my strength of heart, 
That thou, dear love, true married soul, art mine : 
Then thus I doubt, — Mayhap 'tis better part 
That I, in love, in married truth, am thine. 
Twin thoughts — and each of them is "hooks of steel" 
Within my golden liberty of love : 
One 's best; wherewith my soul hath more to deal : 
Now which of these great two doth rise above ? 

I answer thus : To own thee mine is bliss ; 

Devout to call me thine, — Religion this. 



31 



DISCOVERIES 



XXIV. 

The poet discovereth in an outing how blessed is retirement with 
friendship. 

On sands to sit, and on the waters look, 
To watch the moon sail in the upper seas, 
To hear the soughing of the vaporous breeze, 
And the lake's rustling lap when it is shook, 
To close reluctant a delightful book 
Which one to voice and all to hearken please 
As long as light doth will, and then at ease 
To see Night set her every diamond hook 
And hang her curtains, — these be charms 
For trusty friends sequestered in this place 
"Far from the madding crowd's" wails, routs, alarms: 
A brave forgetfulness in every face, 
Smiles fond, slighting awhile the sad world's harms 
To tell each other, Love-full is holy space. 



DISCOVERIES 



XXV. 

The poet discovereth in the "Star of Pcets" a line which his own 
experience maketh happy to him, as assuredly to a blessed world of 
others. 

She "gives my pen both skill and argument : " * 

What speed if I had skill but naught to say ? 

Or use if fortunes of rich thought were spent, 

But hid in soul and unexpressive lay ? 

But she allots me both and sets me free, 

Enlarging me as with both wings and air, — 

With thought to fashion what her beauties be, 

And winged words to fly unto my fair. 

Sweet water she, that doth a vessel fill 

With matter and with sparkles in one self ; 

Doth brim my mind, then at the margin spill, 

And flashing fall into my versing delf. 

What wonder thou 'rt loquacious, happy heart, 
Since she, thy love, 's thy story and thine art. 



Shakespeare, Sonnet C. 



33 



DISCOVERIES 



XXVI. 

The poet discovereth, on the birthday of his vanished child, that 
loving memory may be a tender, sorrowful, keen reproof. 

My little child, thou art full grown by now, 
Nay, perchance sage, — mayhap the angel days 
Count like our years, and from the baby brow, 
Babe still to me, thought launches all his rays. 
O, I am sad with thinking of my child, 
For fear I sometimes did him little ills ; 
O, sad that these brave discipline I styled, 
So helpless now my arms and eyes he fills. 
And oft I fear — mayhap a keener pain — 
I failed him worse ; for many a little good 
I might have done, bethought me now in vain, 
O'erlooked then, I did not when I could. 

Now can I deck thy semblance with these flowers, 
But can not back-beflower thy tender hours. 



34 



DISCOVERIES 



XXVII. 

The poet discovereth that the "true fixed and resting quality" of 
the heart surely should outdo the common constancies of Nature. 

Show me the glittering night that will endure 
To post his golden watch some other way ; 
An ocean show that will his floods immure 
Against their love that will the moon obey ; 
Show me the oak that will unhook his roots, 
On plain, as do his leaves on air, to prance ; 
Show me what modest buds foresake their fruits, 
To melt, as doth a flaming rose, the glance ; 
Show me what sky at evening or at morn 
Doth his one lovely own complexion change, 
Or, whatso jetty wracks his bend have torn, 
Prevaileth not in blue beyond their range ! 

Dear love, though spleeny fate our fortune try, 
These constancies less constant be than I. 



35 



D ISCOFERIES 



XXVIII. 

The poet discovereth the greateness of common things, and falleth 
into a piety before them. 

What 's commonplace ? Methinks the day and sun, 
Night and the moon, and stars whose every one 
Sits in his rank, or with the pearly run, 
The milky zone, in beaded web is spun : 
The rich round earth, and the shore-lining trees, 
And tunes in them — the fingerings of the breeze, 
And undertones — the sweet roar of the seas, 
Tropics' hot blaze, chills that the blood do freeze, 
Men's cries and groans, writhings of bootless prayer, 
Hope's simpleness, strong strivings and despair, 
Mothers and babes, love vast howe'er it fare, 
And, round these all, the sweet and fruitful air ; 

Ail these be commonplace. O, be so, friend ; 

Then can I feed on thee, days without end. 



36 



DISCOVERIES 



XXIX 

The poet discovereth further that the greater occasions, like to the 
common day, entertain no pomp, and he calleth to his friend with 
gladness. 

What 's commonplace ? Methinks the mould is so, 
Around the root ; yea, the root's self below, 
Imbibing springs, which then through cell-ways go 
And climb i' the sun, making the flowery show ; 
And sandy grains, methinks they common be, 
That loose the soil, making the sweet rain free 
O' the under- ways, and fruitful air agree 
In company, to feed the standing tree ; 
And floating mist, like spray of melted pearls, 
Foam-flecks at sea, scudding where tempest whirls, 
Tendrils obscure, that hang vines on their curls ; 
And wooing men, and silent-loving girls : 

All these be commonplace. O, hide so, friend ; 

Then can I hide with thee, days without end. 



DISCOVERIES 



XXX 

The poet discovereth great delight in fanciful similitudes in love, 
as in this one, which doubly compareth his Comrade to food that he 
tilleth himself, and to rain which is a heavenjy gift. 

"So are you to my thoughts as food to life; 
Or as sweet-seasoned flowers are to the ground : " 
For what 's in force but first in food was rife, 
What doth in flowers but first in rain abound ? 
Bright flush, keen eye, quick ear, neat hand, fleet foot, 
These are but vessels mixing drink and meat ; 
And vertues all that be in verdures put — 
Offspring of rain — bud bright, bloom full, smell sweet. 
So what have I in mind, or thoughts of mind, 
But its abundance hath from thee been tilled ? 
What grace have I, what good canst in me find, 
But from the sky a rain of thee hath filled ? 
Sweet double dearness, so by thee to live 
As by the food I glean, rain Heaven doth give 



Shakspeare, Sonnet LXXV. 



37 



DISCOVERIES 



XXXI 

The poet discovereth once again, and passionately, the power and 
dignity of continuing to wish ardently the thing no longer to be hoped, 
forasmuch as to wish grandly is to live grandly, and little it matters 
what one obtaineth. 

I think I 'd give my hand to have this thing, 
Ay, and the one lop off his fellow if 't could buy 
This prize : or bid them pluck out my right eye, 
Grub out my ears, or crack them till they ring 
With stale unmeaning noise ; or let them bring 
The roots of my tongue to the stringy shambles, or try 
Unmortal cuts around my heart how nigh, — 
If so I could attain this longed for thing. 
Well — and I cannot get it, 'tis denied me, 
And ambling Fortune spites me with her jeers ; 
Yet is she but befooled if she deride me, 
She weareth motley by her idle leers : 
The best in things unhad God doth provide me, 
To wit, th' unhoped great wish unwaned with years. 



39 



DISCOVERIES 



XXXII 

The poet discovereth that sorg shineth like light, and light address- 
eth him like song. 

"The stars of morning sang" — so saith the psalm 
Antique. Good sooth a choir of stars, a ringing 
Grand canopy high, as if the roof were singing 
( Though sooth but tossing echoes from its calm ) 
Melodious counterpoint, spread like the palm 
Wide-leafed, but veined with tuneful lines, then springing 
To masterful chords, massed harmonies a-bringing 
To eye and ear at once immutable balm — 
Methinks this wondrous strange : eke to my sight 
On earth, and not less to mine ear, belong 
Things equal strange, things equal sweet and bright. 
O, beauty vast and glorious and strong, 
Whereby in mazes swift of song and light 
I mark not song from light nor light from song ! 



40 



'D I S C O V E R I E S 



XXXIII. 

The poet discovereth himself, awaking, in radiance of thoughts of 
his Comrade, remembering first her "merry heart," and then the great 
sorrows she hath borne. 

Awake I lie : what happier can I do, 
Sweet gleesome love, than sing a prayerful lay, 
Which with thanksgiving in my ear shall stay, 
Yet run to thee over unshaken dew ! 
For I do think, sweet ghost, o' nights in view, 
Yea, 'tis my creed, thou blessing of the day, 
My potent spirits o' love and song can play 
In thy dear dreams, thy glimmering sleep imbrue. 
I have delighted in thy robe of white, 
Which still apparels noon like moon-lit sleep 
And innocently suits my playful dear. 
But O, dear love, thy very playful light 
Is like a dawn where graves of griefs do heap : 
My song repents, and washes in a tear. 



41 



DISCOVERIES 



XXXIV. 

The poet discovereth that it is no more mysterious to sleep than to 
wake, or, by parity, to die than to live. 

I wake always swiftly, one moment sound, 
The next alert and quick, as some fine hand 
Swept dull strings to a chord, or from dry sand 
Sprang adult watery flowers on a bald mound : 
Or sudden morn cracked heaven and over the round 
Top of a hill dragged light down to the land : 
Or an unwarning wind to outbreak fanned 
Again a flame that ashes did impound. 
So in a trice evoked, where was I erst ? 
How were eyes shut, what was my sun or star, 
What residences did my spirit keep ? 
But prythee tell me this, — Where I was first 
Before I slept, or where these wide eyes are ? 
Then will I tell thee where I was asleep. 



42 



DfSCOl/ER/ES 



XXXV. 

The poet discovered again in love the meaning and truth of the 
saying, "Whosoever would save his life shall lose it, and whosoever 
shall lose his life for my sake, shall save it." 

O, "when these quicker elements have gone 

In tender embassy of love of to thee"* — 

Meaning my breath of thought and fire that shone 

In fond desire — I have most leave to be : 

Yea, at my deepest am, my best estate, 

And do possess me in my greatest sum, 

When I to envoys do my powers create 

And send them from me to thy court to come. 

O potency and nimble life of love ! — 

That when I do dissolve me for thy right, 

'Tis then I mass my very self above, 

And see the more for sending thee my light. 
Yet 'tis but half, unless thou wilt receive me : 
To keep me whole, take what for thee doth leave me. 



:: " Shakespeare, Sonnet XLV. 



43 



DISCOVERIES 



XXXVI. 

The poet discovereth that he contemneth men who have no chiv- 
alry unto women, as not to doff the hat to a woman, or to sit while 
a woman stands, or let her be weary with any load if he can lift it. 

Why gave stout Nature unto men these arms, 
So strong, brawny, and absolute withal, 
But they for women to works and wars should fall, 
Then to endearment votive of sweet charms. 
First men must work that women meet no harms, 
Be fed, covered, well servanted at call ; 
Next must they wage brave wars with tug and brawl, 
That their dear dames 'scape ravage or alarms. 
But when — blest hour ! — work 's done and war 's at end, 
What hand in toils or battle did contend, 
Should with endearment touch his lovely friend ; 
The arms, I say, that tools and weapons wielded, 
Must wind around the woman that he shielded, 
To which dear love she longed and now hath yielded. 



•44 



DISCOVERIES 



XXXVII. 

The poet discovered*, by sight of a pool under the stars, that 
though he have little worth in himself, yet he may receive heavenly 
worth by reflecting the sky of his Comrade's love. 

It is not for thy love that I would ask, 

love, my love, thou sweet dear lover o' me, 
Bu'l ever to feel thy love, its sweet light see, 
And live steept in 't, as things in warm sun bask. 

1 would not have thy love to wear a mask, 
Like sun in clouds, though still prevaileth he ; 
But I would round me have 't so burning be 

how to fly thy love it were the task. 
So have I seen a shallow earthly pool, 
Embraced o' the spheres, appropriate a deep 
From the up-piled heavens of lights above : 
What if those eyes too distant and too cool 
That bosom but saw, not burned it from their steep? 
Let poorest me richly contain thy love. 



45 



DISCOVERIES 



XXXVIII. 

The poet discovered that "man doth not yield himself to the an- 
gels, nor unto death utterly, save only through the weakness of his 
feeble" song. 

My earthly end can not be far, a bare 
Seventh, perhaps, of the dear years now run, 
Or if by reason of strength still more, a spare 
Three score and ten, I think, will see me done. 
What then ? I '11 swifter sing, as shrewd as child 
That eats his supper fast to eat the more, 
Against his comely nurse, howbeit mild, 
Doth timely snatch him to his sleeping door. 
iMethinks it were full rich, when I must wend, 
A song to be a-making as I go, 
And fall asleep here with th' unfinished end, 
To wake there still composing it a-glow. 

Dear Song 's a friend to die with or to live, 
That joy in either and for-aye doth give. 



46 



DISCOVERIES 



XXXIX. 

The poet ditcovefeth how precious and how beautiful are iIk 

carved signs of life-lore in the face of his dear Comrade, 

"Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth, 
And delves the parallels in beauty's brow : " * 
Hut if I set no flourish ? Sub-soil of truth 
!3eanng ripe beauty, 'tis this sharp life doth plow. 
For time that digs these trenches of defence 
Doth fortify for memory's occupation ; 
In me 'tis memory dear, in thee expense 
O' th' things remembered, that dwells in time's vallation. 
I can recall what holy experience 
Cut these or these wide outworks in thy face : 
Belike without them I might lack the sense, 
As thou the coverts, of these things of grace. 
Mine honorable love, 'twas ne'er thy youlh 
But this I flourished, thy now-lime-trenchcd truth. 



' Shakspeare, Sonnet LX. 



DISCOVERIES 



XL. 

The poet discovereth that when he beholdeth his Comrade, or 
thinks of her, he is made very lowly of spirit, and saith, "Who is suf- 
ficient for these things?" Yet must he dare them. 

O, "all that beauty that doth cover thee 
Is but the seemly raiment of my heart, 
Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me:"* 
So am I royal robed, thine but poor part. 
O I, soul knows, that knows my faulty deeds, 
Love thee with love better than all my best ; 
So naught have I to robe love as love needs, — 
My love in whom I love is only drest. 
How humbly must I love, how naked go! 
What rags and tatters have I sole for raiment, 
Till clothed upon of thee ! What poorest show 
Have I, except thy riches, for love's payment! 
Yet to love thee is such a joy of joys, 
I dare 't, and will, despite my foul alloys. 

* Shakespeare, Sonnet XXII. 



4S 



DISCOVERIES 



XLl. 

The poet discovereth again how "the night shineth as the day" 
a:»d "is light about us," yet not adored as it should be, but is like an 
unreverenced bride. 

Dear Night, thy glorious beauty kindleth me 
To exultations new. I am surprised 
But now, and in thy lustres paradised, — 
A beauteous burst I ne'er before did see. 
How is 't, dear love, thou bride, my Night, that thee 
I, wedded-unwedded, knew not, unadvised 
Of beauty daily re -espoused, unsized 
To prove what marvels to me married be ! 
Meseems each mother day brings myriad nights, 
To every man his night ; but evenings few 
So wed but for love's lack seem dewed and weepy : 
Yet O, thy beauties in thy sable -blue 
Glossed with gold winks of rays, like eyes of lights 
That to full suns might open, but are too sleepy ! 



4 ( > 



DISCOVERIES 



XLIl. 

The poet discovereth how many and great elements mix in high 
love ; just as in a high creature are completed many and diverse mem- 
bers which a shell-fish needeth not. 

I took me a large lump of reverence, 

And got me thereunto the tinct of joy, 

A flagon brimming bright ; then poured expense 

Of golden -flowing tendernesses coy : 

With these I mingled adoration pure 

That was religion in humilities ; 

Then stirred fair manners in, that her should mure 

With ceremony and sweet courtesies : 

Then add I, quaking with the things I dare, 

The mystery that maketh touch a bliss, 

Entwineth two completements in one share, 

And buildeth arcs of heaven within a kiss. 
So I compounded love, and being through, 
Lo ! 'twas alive, for from that hour love grew. 



50 



DISCOVERIES 



XL1II. 

The poet discovered humbly and joyously that his love of his 
Comrade availeth most where need is greatest, to- wit, in himself. 

I cannot add one honor to thy grace : 
To heap my heart's emoluments on thee 
No more doth count, nor makes a better case, 
Than if I launched one tear upon a sea. 
So wide the compass of thy credit's coast 
That, though its round thy flooding honors fill, 
My rainy praises fall unmarked most, 
Nor can not make the heaping margin spill. 
What then 's my worth of love, what can it do, 
Why should it be, what own domain or dower? — 
Since 'tis no fame that can to thee accrue, 
Nor can enrich thy treasury of power. 

Yet thus I answer, thus retrieve my plight : 
My love 's no grace to thee, to me life's light, 



51 



DISCOVERIES 



XL1V. 

The poet discovereth that if it be years that build up youth on the 
child, then more years should build up more youth forever. 

Since infancy is not the stuff of youth, 
But only what that fair is piled upon, 
Youth's happy prime and lovely bloom in sooth 
Doth year by year its gentle annuals don : 
Ay, year by year, with never change, I wot 
The flowery months come tumbling on the head ; 
Till one by one, thence ne'er unjoined, is got 
The garland of the days that youth have sped. 
Then why should years the bowl of youth that fill 
With mirthful wisdom drowning infant prattle, 
At length o'erstrain the round and overspill 
Into a rusty blight and trembling tattle? 

'Tis not nor shall be so : what time with any 

Years buildeth youth, shall build more youth with many. 



DISCOVERIES 



XLV. 

The poet discovereth that to love his Comrade were a grievious 
daring, were it not that to her he pleadeth her own grace. 

"Farewell! Thou art to dear for my possessing, 

And like enough thou knowest thine estimate ; 

The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing, 

My bonds in thee are all determinate."* 

So doth love speak in sterile native region, 

Where my bald rocks humilities recite, 

And straight cliffs of my faults, that number legion, 

From one to other cast my plained plight. 

But yet I anchor in thy coast unmeasured, 

And 'tis thy lofty table, like a targe, 

Doth fix my shoot of sight ; whence not untreasured 

Am faulty I — thy wealth defrays my charge. 
O, by thy very virtue so above me 
I gain this excellence, that thou v/ilt love me. 



Shakespeare, Sonnet LXXXV1I. 



53 



DISCOVERIES 



XLVI. 

The poet discovereth how great loneliness lone thought is, and 
■pari passu how blessed to him is his Comrade's love, who loveth 
his thoughts. 

Naught nips the soul so lone as noble thought, 
Which heaps a burden that no heart can bear : 
Whence straightway when my mind becomes so fraught, 
Perforce I run to thee for thee to share. 
Then carrying to thy soul this grievous weight — 
Grievous till thus it shall partaken be — 
My loneness grows on road, and erst so great, 
Increaseth now, anticipating thee. 
Nobly twice lone, by thought and love, O, then 
Sweet music steppeth with my soul along, 
My heart doth sing, being so filled : O, when 
Did soul both think and love without a song ? 

Thus thought and love, lone raptures, grow to more, 
Snatch me to thee, and song runs on before. 



54 



DISCOVERIES 



XLVII. 

The poet discovereth how empty and unjoyful are all the com- 
mon prizes of life in comparison with his Comrade's fellowship in 
hope. 

"When to the sessions of sweet silent thought 
I summon up remembrance of things past,"" 
Then my rich now, with riches of thee fraught, 
Makes time devoid of thee seem voidance vast. 
Then hath my mind's eye all the arches spanned 
Of fallen triumphs all for which I moiled, 
Which now being gone, were greatness bare or banned, 
Since wanting thee makes all a-want and foiled. 
Nay, what of battles lost, ventures o'erthrown, 
Since fanes of hope thou bid'st upon them rise ! 
Those lacking thee, these lack thee not, their own, 
Who dost old ashes kindle from new skies. 
O, how much better, love, with thee a hope, 
Than, thee without, some pride's heart-empty scope ! 



Shakespeare, Sonnet XXX. 



DISCOVERIES 



XLVIll. 

The poet discovereth that it is a great mystery why he liketh some 
things and some things disliketh, and he thinketh it hath some part 
with eternal truth and with Nature's extreme affiances. 

Why to mine ear should this be levening barm, 
But harm to sense this other simple note ? 
Why smote I this with hate, on this did dote, 
To gloat on having or at loss alarm? 
Or arm defendeth some, as fence a farm, 
Unarming other some, as undeared boat 
May float away unwatched, or stuck in moat 
Doth coat with clay the once -white -sailing charm? 
Why are some odors good, some smells so bad ? 
Why sad my heart here, there all light a-wing, 
Doth spring for this, for that o'erspill a tear ? 
Thus clear I me: I am not mocked — all 's had 
And clad in my real soul, and everything 
Doth bring me truth eterne and Nature dear. 



56 



T>ISCOI/ERIES 



XLIX. 

The poet discovered, by the humility of true love, one comfort 
for his little worthiness, namely, that he knoweth it. 

I owe a nobler eloquence to thee, 
Telling my love ; I am not careful enough 
Of thy dear life, nor rightwise watchfully 
Smooth I for thee thy path in regions rough : 
Not so devout am I as is my part, 
Offering my love ; nor with humility 
Sufficed in grace, nor have I grant of heart 
For the dear tenderness should round thee be : 
Of thy sweet soul I have small inner seeing, 
And outward vision doth but lamely view thee ; 
Most true it is my truth is Truth's decreeing, 
Yet is not such a truth as should accrue thee. 
Thus sad and bent, my imperfection so, 
One virtue 's left, — my little worth I know. 



57 



D/SCOl/ERIES 



The poet discovereth again that man liveth not by bread alone, 
and the trees house better crops than their fruits. 

The fruit o' the tree is the bird that sings a-top : 
What matter that the branches can not sing, 
Which carry the music of that sweet wild thing, 
Whose carolings do make best ruddy crop ? 
There first the singer nests, — in fork to stop 
And build a dwelling emulous to swing 
On all the breezes wild, — whose song doth spring 
First up the air, then down from heaven doth drop. 
O, green -thatched barns, what cattle do ye stall, 
What breaths and lowings of the feathered kine 
That fill your rafters with woods-odorous voice ! 
Ye sing not, quotha? Ye are homes for all 
That sing, e'en winds: trees, winds and wings, — what trine! 
On whom song leans or lives, let him rejoice. 



58 



DISCOVERIES 



LI. 

The poet discovereth that only the purest love can reverse and 
overcome the base judgments of common fame. 

"The painful warrior fame-used for fight, 
After a thousand victories once foiled, 
Is from the book of honor razed quite, 
And all the rest forgot for which he toiled : " * 
Nay, let him champion his ten -thousandth spite 
And say ten thousand triumphs he hath won, 
Yet if in next he meet a stronger wight, 
Thenceforth he hath no name but one outdone. 
This may be need ; empires and prideful things 
Must feed on potencies ; brave struggle 's naught 
To heralds, to roaring glory -trains, to kings : 
Sweet love alone correcteth this base thought. 
To her who loves me ( for nor pride nor boast ) 
When most I need her I am dearest most. 



* Shakespeare, Sonnet XXV. 



59 



DISCOVERIES 



LII. 

The poet discovereth that contentment is different from joy, 
thinketh himself admonished unto rapturous life. 

What is this rapture, this befriending joy, 
This lifting of my head into the air, 
This look on nothing but it looketh fair, 
This chanting spirit, this enriched employ ? 
The merry heavens do arch their humors coy, 
Winds give me pinions, silken vapors rare 
Float me a-main, as billows th' sea-birds bear ; 
With rains I bandy, with dew-diamonds toy. 
Now what are all these gay and charming voices, 
What all these gilded beaming ravishments, 
My jocund mirth in jocund measures bringing ? 
Sing well, sing ill, but sing, heart that rejoices ; 
Play well, play ill, but spill thy merriments ; 
Barely I walk, so leaps my soul a-singing. 



60 



PIS COTERIES 



mi. 

The poet discovered the law of love, like to the law of all life, 
namely, that the greatest joy of it is that it increaseth. 

Dearest beloved, what is the greatest riches 
I have of thee ? Is it thy lovely grace 
Wherein thy spirit beautiful bewitches 
The charmed precincts of thy matron face ? 
Is 't wedded bond, wherein thy perfect sweetness 
Embraces me, with fond attentive charms, 
In throned seats of mutual completeness, 
Where love and knowledge meet without alarms ? 
Nay, none of these ; nor love nor grace nor marriage 
Hath place the first ; but that my love's now -best 
Hath swifter portage and increasing carriage 
Toward utmost love's extreme — that most is blest. 

Wedlock and love and grace, these must be so; 

But that my love is more, O, this may grow. 



61 



DISCOVERIES 



LIV. 

The poet discovereth, by reverence of his Comrade, that the main 
joy is to behold that good things are on the earth. 

Now have I the main thing, and can be glad ! 
Till I beheld thee love, thy pity fall, 
I knew not such things were on earth withal : 
That is the main, — henceforth I shall be glad. 
What matter that by me such are not had ? 
Main is, earth hath them, doth them large install ; 
And I can wait — "naught *s long that ends at all : " 
Small matter what by me forsooth is had. 
O, rich — so preach I back thy sweet tuition — 
Am I, or any one, when what we miss 
We thank for its abundance in the earth : 
And he is wealthy with a star's condition 
Who happily the world doth lightsome kiss, 
And love it, though it give not back his worth. 



62 



DISCOVERIES 



LV. 

The poet discovereth why so often he is speechless in presence of 
his Comrade, and he blesseth the mutual knowledge or divination that 
replaceth speech. 

Most true, in my "deep joy to see and hear thee, 
And breathe within thy shadow a new air, 
I do not think of thee — I am too near thee : " * 
Absent I think — my thoughts replace thee there. 
And what then doth my soul when thou art by me, 
How live I, in what attributes exist? 
Do I seem absent then, and thy soul spy me 
Ice -browed, unmoving, like pale visions whist ? 
It may be so ; but O, sweet love, my being 
Is then not I — 'tis gone, immersed in thine : 
Drowned in thy presence, how can I speak thee, seeing 
Speech must be twain — in thee I am not mine. 
I must have faith or hope that we, by knowing 
So deep in each, have no more need of showing. 



Mrs. Browning, Sonnets from the Portuguese, XXIX, 



63 



DISCOVERIES 



LVI. 

The poet discovereth that in all things he hath both cause and 
need of song. 

If joyed I be, conjured am I to sing 
And round my glee a merry music fling : 
If I be grieved, like Philomel I sing, 
Consoling with sweet plaints my nighted wing : 
If I do love, what possible but sing 
Memorial madrigals that round me ring : 
If I do hate ( which God forefend ), I sing 
To quell the clamor where the discords ding. 
At morn, by noon, at eve, by night, which way 
I look or walk or rest or run all day, 
Naught can outhaste the angel bids me sing : 
Need matters naught, song parleys not : or play, 
Or work or loss or gain or flight or stay, 
Pursuing raptures drive me till I sing. 



64 



DISCOVERIES 



LVII. 

The poet discovereth with what amazing sureness and swiftness 
his Comrade cometh and understandeth and ministereth. 

O, let me be but lone and thou dost come, 
I can not be so far but thou dost come, — 
Nay, from the farthest comest thou most swift, 
As he speaks most who most with love is dumb. 
I can not need a balm but thou hast some, 
Nor need so costly balm but thou hast some, 
Nor can not farther from thy visit drift 
Than wintry trees when spring airs through them hum. 
What can more perfect perfectness declare 
In love than this, that I can not escape thee, 
Nor go nor bide but ever thou art there, 
And close about me like to light dost shape thee, 
And wear my very needs to dress thee fair, 
Or with my sorrow as a sable drape thee ! 



65 



DISCOVERIES 



LVIII. 

The poet discovereth, by a leaf falling at his feet in a Beechen 
grove, how strong and excellent any small thing is in its place, with 
what importance dignified, with what beauty drest. 

Honorable thing ! Its name 's perfection ! 
The vasty fire -bed of the sun not more, 
Nor more that north spark praised for least deflection, 
E'er faithfuller significancy bore. 
Yon sphere doth warm huge millions of such fellows, 
The briny pole-star helms mid-mained ships ; 
But star that steers nor sun that sap-cells mellows, 
Outsights this thing that wind-wave lifts and dips : 
No, nor more perfect is, nor a hair more mighty, 
If to be mighty mean accomplishment 
O' the extreme full of fate. On yon perch flighty 
To achieved end these veins were richly bent ; 

Now, satin and wealthy, it flutters hither and dies, — 

But on its little wing I ride the skies. 



66 



DISCOVERIES 



LIX. 

The poet discovereth that love is a prophet, whose words any one 
may hear and repeat ; but the true disciple is he that doeth the 
word ( Mt. vii, 24 ). 

"Then others for their breath of words respect," 
When words come tripping with a pretty ring ; 
"Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect,"* 
Deeds that be sweet talk, silences that sing. 
O, let me not be eloquent in sounds, 
As all thy lodge were in that shell, thine ear, 
Nor toss thee what like windy sand abounds, 
Sole words, while pearls of truth but rare appear. 
Expression is but rich if richly mattered, 
If the thing done be worthy of the word ; 
If deeds be poor, rich syllables are tattered 
Frayed finery, tawdry and stained and blurred. 
If others write thee verse, though verse may move, 
Let dumb me serve ; I shall the richer prove. 



Shakespeare, Sonnet LXXXV. 



DISCOVERIES 



LX. 

The poet, walking in the city by night, discovereth a child sleep- 
ing in a basket-cradle on the curb of a common ill-purlieued street ; 
and he discovereth how "evil-entreated" the child is. 

O, thou 'rt out of place, thou 'rt out of place, 
Sweet cherub, and thy "honey -heavy" eyes 
With "slumber's dew" seem to refuse the skies 
That lower and reek on thine abused face. 
Where smut and smoke begrime the firm space 
O' the most true heavens, and rank vapors rise 
From stews and shambles and foul human sties, 
Is *t room for thy most pure and slumberous grace ? 
Thou shouldst be sleeping in sweet country air, 
Beneath skies unconfused, white daisies round thee, 
Birds from low willows peeping at thy fair, 
Vieing with gales to make dream-music sound thee ; 
And chanting books thy sleeping sigh should bear, 
To tell pursuing angels they have found thee. 



68 



DISCOVERIES 



LXI. 

The poet discovereth again how he doth "relish versing," and how 
dear is his Comrade ; so that by both together he worketh with rap- 
ture. 

To write, O love, to write is fiery pleasures, 
To feel the dance of syllables in ear, 
And fancy's leap to couple with quick measures 
Wherein sound hands with sense for grace and cheer. 
And yet I have by thee an earlier blessing, 
Which is thy light. It first in eyes I find, 
Thy soft aurora on my vision pressing, 
Which turneth then to portraiture in mind. 
O, then what glow, what glory, joy delightful, 
When both these revels marry into one : 
With what a bond, what union, nuptials rightful, 
Am I espoused when pen to thee doth run ! 

Pen lone, thou lone, either makes glowing weather : 
Noon's noon, to write, and write of thee together. 



69 



DISCOVERIES 



LXII. 

The poet discovereth that to be loved is a terrible thing and an 
awful gift. 

Cluster your grudges, hummock on mountain heap : 
What less harm can ye do me than to hate me, 
Or more can distance me than so instate me? 
Ye can not quell me so, nor make me weep, 
Or wink with tears shed or unshed, or sleep 
Less soundly by one start, nor with pains freight me, 
Nor with bemonstered shapes of menace bait me, 
Nor me in dolorous qualms or tremors steep. 
Ha ! no, yon hate 's no trial ; but O, sweet friends, 
Your love, that quells me sore, that striketh prone, 
Ransacks my fearful breast to see what 's there : 
Thing terrible ! The soul it bows and bends : 
Who to be so beloved can lightly own, 
Or on unwincing brows this gold can wear ? 



70 



DISCOVERIES 



LXIII. 

The poet discovereth that his dear Comrade hath changed his 
wishes utterly, and sufficeth his new and better wishes. 

"That I in thy abundance am sufficed 
And by a part of all thy glory live,"* 
Hath from my elder wishes me enticed 
And shown me naught that other wish can give. 
What is 't I think of that I can desire, 
Being fed with it from out thy measures more ? 
What fire of glory, or what glorious fire, 
Since by thee lit when I thy light explore ? 
The greater is thy virtue, richer then 
Roundeth my share, the larger from thee taken : 
My wit 's my own and little, but O, when 
Soul is discoursed, in thine doth mine awaken. 
Since in my best 1 from thy beauty grow, 
My utmost own but makes me to thee go. 



Shakespeare, Sonnet XXXVII. 



71 



DISCOVERIES 



LXIV. 

The poet discovereth that, on awaking, his absent beloved Com- 
rade instantly is present in his mind, and he admireth her high useful- 
ness and generous toil in the world. 

My waking mind did find my heart awake, 
And thus methought, in the first morning hush, 
That she was here diffused in the blush 
Of early things, and fellow of their make. 
Sweet usefulness my love's dear brow doth take, 
As much as sun, moon, stream, to wear the flush 
Of its gold honor; nor the fresh winds rush 
More than she runs to labors for love's sake. 
Methought the serviceable air was filled 
With things packing for use, which all did crowd 
And jostle kindly, seeking to be known. 
Each vied to be a servant better skilled, 
And with them she, lodged in the golden cloud, 
Waked eyes that found heart waked with her alone. 



T> I SCOl/ERIES 



LXV. 

The poet discovered that when the broad back breaks down, 
Nature groweth for him a tough third limb. 

To-day I bought my first cane, a third 

Unquestionable leg, thereby to prop 

My un-souled back, no more with wit preferred 

To bid my birthright feet trot on or stop. 

Aha ! thou russet vigor of bamboo, 

Strange how much better are thy joints than mine : 

Flow merry I perambulate with you, 

But to none else can give support like thine. 

Ha ! would that thou couldst lesson my back to straightness ! 

But since not so, inculcate in my soul 

To be as sturdy inward with a greatness 

As toughly you with lagging legs condole. 
If seasoned I for three legs, one of wood, 
'Tis well my new one is so seasoned -good. 



DISCOVERIES 



LXVI. 

The poet discovereth warrant for claiming equality with his Com- 
rade. For though she far surpasseth him in excellency, on that ac- 
count he can exceed her in just adoration. 

Dear love, wherein am I not full thy fellow ? 
We both are Spring in spirit, April's heart, 
Yet in the leaf now turning "sere and yellow ; " 
Here have we equal honors, each his part. 
Thou hast enriched thy youthful dews with wines 
Distilled from that vineyard, thine old years ; 
Hard by thy wisdom's worth my reverence shines, 
And this is a sweet peerage that endears. 
In love's respect, which is the chief est pleasure, 
I will not yield me even to thy greatness, 
But here hold out, claiming to meet thy measure, 
And equal be in faithful passionateness. 

First, time and love our equal honors be ; 

Then to adore thy grace engraceth me. 



DISC O V E R I E S 



LXVII. 

The poet discovered, by virtue of his love of his Comrade, 
adorable inexpressible mystery of oneness and union. 

"With pulses that beat double, what I do 
And what I dream include you, as the wine 
Must taste of its own grape."* Ay, the wine 
Must taste of its own grape ! Methinks that you 
Were first my dear first somewhere, and I grow 
Thus forth from such a planting, as the vine 
Roots in dear native dark ; — ay, the vine 
Roots in dear native dark that purples through. 
I give you love, but first it seems thine own ; 
And in the wings and upward of my joy 
I know I soar by reason of thine air : 
I give thee truth, but truth from thy truth grown : 
Wedding can make as little as destroy 
Somewhat that seems descent from thee somewhere. 



Mrs. Browning, Sonnets from the Portuguese, VI. 



DISCOVERIES 



LXVII1. 

The poet discovereth that there is a time for everything— except 
for loving, which taketh all time, 

Time is a mart, with booths for everything : 
Here games go merrily, there a laboring hour ; 
Sweet folly here, grave wisdom there at power ; — 
For each his limits, each inhabiting 
His temporal chamber. Time there is to sing 
All heartfully, with sweet persisting dower 
Of blessed hope ; and time for hope to lower — 
For outing smiles while grief is inwarding. 
But while on streaming time, and each in turn, 
We launch all varied fortunes, momently 
Apportioned vessels to the water shoving, 
Some shallops wait us aye — they do sojourn 
At hand for launch perpetual : loves they be, — 
There is no hour particular for loving. 



76 



DISCOVERIES 



LXIX. 

The poet discovered the powerful joy of following his Comrade 
with the mind's eye ; wherefore her absence on a long journey 
affordeth a blessedness of its own. 

I follow her in thought where she is gone 
No league too long, no place too lockt for me ; 
Her first in light, then place -begirt, I see, 
Though where she is I never looked upon. 
What if with eye, what if, I say, to con 
The place that 's sweet with her I am not free ; 
No winged might more sure than this can be, 
That eyes by hers, place with her place, I don. 
I„bid thee, churlish space, frown if it please, 
And put on all thine ice, freeze up the hours, 
And turn where now I am to wintry time : 
Thou canst not, foggy space, unlight my ease, 
Nor vapor me with doubt, nor drown my powers 
Of wings of love to fly where she 's the clime. 



[DISC QUERIES 



LXX. 

The poet discovereth this question for himself, namely, As I can 
not praise my dear Comrade aright, shall I not welcome some other 
to praise her, even though I be forgotten. 

Let my heart turn to red and blessed ink ; 
And as my spirit flies, let fall a feather 
From its bright wing, that down shall flutter and sink 
Till pen and well of red do lie together. 
Then let some hand that better knows to write 
Than these poor fingers can, take up the duty 
To dip the pen, and swift therewith indite 
An earthly versing of thy heavenly beauty. 
If I could do the blesssed loving task, 
I would not yield it so ; but as not able 
For the sweet joy, Love doth unwilling ask 
To let another write thee on Time's table. 

What Love unwilling doth, I willingly : 

Let me be gone, so richer 'tis for thee. 



78 



DISCOVERIES 



LXXI. 

The poet discovereth, reading of Chrysostom, how apt is the name 
for his dear Comrade with all her gentle speech and her merry quirks 
and quips that engild the hours continually. 

1 '11 call thee Chrysostom, my Golden Mouth ; 
For thou dost speak me eloquences fairer 
Than music's "dying fall," or "the sweet south 
O'er banks of violets stealing" breath still rarer. 
First come thy winsome words : some merry make, 
Some beweep faults with tender clemencies, 
Some roundly flout and jeer, as it might take 
The feet of winds to pace thy rogueries. 
Then come the smiles and quiver of thy lips, 
As if the bell of some sweet instrument 
Wimpled with gay notes like thine eager quips, 
Or wreathed and trembled when love tones were meant. 
So do thy mouth's sweet brinks make double bliss, 
Then give me thrice that double in thy kiss. 



DISCOVERIES 



LXXII. 

The poet discovereth that as "a dinner of herbs" is a banquet 
with love, love hath power to stretch a small supply over many ; and 
this he taketh to be the sense of Mathew XIV, 14-20. 

Friend, I am fortunate : do me now thy part, 
And tell thy need, that thou may see expand 
My wealthy stock. None happier in the land 
Than I, that have both oil-cruse and my art. 
Not very rich the cruse, but, since my heart 
I mix with it, exhaustless to my hand ; 
And if a little spill upon the sand, 
Such virtue 'tis that wells of help do start. 
Wherefore, garnish thy floors, and mend thy fire, 
Mingle the olive's unction with thy flour, 
Bake and so eat, and have a heart of peace. 
What is more fortunate than warm desire 
Of friend to friend, what stretches with a power 
Like vessel of love, that spilling doth increase ! 



80 



DISCOVERIES 



LXXIII. 

The poet discovereth that all coffers are proper signs of what is 
kept in them ; and this discovery he transferred and applieth to the 
good beauty of his dear Comrade. 

If cabinet for gems do shine so bright 
That before opening we expect great jewels, 
And if a distant fire so burn on night, 
That we, espying, say, There are swift fuels ; 
Or if a book be chastely ornamented, 
That twixt such gildings twire us golden hours, 
Or if a dewy breeze be so sweet scented 
That near we look for gardens full of flowers, 
Or if by stars that twinkle on this world, 
Other sweet -peopled globes in mind we see, 
Or if by meteors through the heavens hurled, 
We think what fiery cores the planets be ; 
So is it with my dear love all and whole : 
Who sees her fair form, muses on her soul. 



81 



DISCOVERIES 



LXXIV. 

The poet discovereth that the dire fancies of the "Star of Poets' 
vanish by the burning of the dear body with fire. 

Tis thus most wantonly he pictureth : 
"Make worms thine heir," "with vilest worms to dwell," 
"The prey of worms," — thus doth he ensign Death — 
And "worms inheritors" of Asphodel. 
O, Shakespeare, "Star of Poets," why must thou 
With language so befoul love's fancy sore? 
Doth not drear death the mind enough endow, 
But thou must use thine art to make it more ? 
But loose thy magic diction as thou wilt, 
We do defy thee now ; the sacred fire 
That burned on Sinai and Horeb us hath built 
In spiritual air a home of heart's desire. 
Like soul doth rise the body of our dead, 
And joineth Nature's fountains overhead. 



82 



DISC O V E R I E S 



LXXV. 

The poet discovereth that the burning up of the mortal body con- 
veyeth it into all manner of beauty. 

O, when our dead had dropped his body, when 
We waited not for sloven black decay, 
But bade sun, stars and lightnings take it, then 
With flame's etherial fans it moved away ; 
It fled, it flew, it fluttered on young wings, 
O, young, but strong, and fiery for the skies; 
And there it hath become all lovely things 
Which have a path unto our ears and eyes. 
And now we can not hark a vireo pipe, 
Or hear a thrush revive his modest plea, 
Or mark the sun a golden lily stripe, 
But think our dead perchance we hear or see. 
Tis so the flaming heavens put by the tomb, 

And what was dungeoned hath all Nature's room. 



83 



DISCOVERIES 



LXXVI. 

The poet discovereth how shining an annual beauty April is. 

So sweet a gray of mist is in the air, 

So rich a sun doth in the vapor shine, 

And infant grass, bird, breeze, leaf, bud combine 

In baby advents, for the which prepare 

The milky founts of Earth that doth them bear, 

And tinkles so the wind-flower under pine, 

And clink the pebbles in the banks of wine 

Where tippling hills drink off their wintry care — 

They do betune me so that I would sing, 

Yet my dear song unto a silence close, 

O'erwhelm it, like the gray scud in the blue : 

Nay, then, ye birds, ye harps o' trees in Spring, 

Ye foamy brooks, all harmonies, compose 

Me listening to my silence mix with you. 



84 



DISCOVERIES 



LXXVH. 

The poet discovereth with what mutable fluency all things pass ; 
but thereby the more he fixeth on that in himself which passeth not. 

Seeing bright June her endless glories spread, 
And universal green behue the earth, 
I have exclaimed, No splendor e'er was shed 
So perfected, creatures so haled to mirth. 
Then rich October hath enriched her horn 
Of shadowed colors shadowing the air, 
Soft yellows softened more than yellow morn, 
And russet reds on russet boughs soon bare. 
Thus have I witnessed earlier glories flee 
To versicolored Autumn magical ; 
Yet thus bright-pied, this beauty slip I see 
To nakedness and wintry spectacle. 

But this I learn at last, which still will last : 

In love what 's fast, that is forever fast. 



85 



DISCOVERIES 



LXXVIII. 

C. A. H. 

The poet discovereth in his friend's sorrow what meaneth the 

"Star of Poets" when he saith, "Keep thy friend under thine own 
life's key." 

Beloved friend, love ties me to this doubt : 
Why must 1 be so blest and thou so grieved, 
Thy friend with love so singled round about, 
And thou of thy one best so swift bereaved ? 
Why some o'er other some so feasted be, 
Some sit at bounty -tables of plain woe ? 
Why friend must see friend anguished, as I thee, 
When love of him instead of him would go ? 
I am not wise to tell. The lark 
Cannot explore the stars, though flying high ; 
So sing I far up love, yet can not mark 
The round and infinite secret of the sky. 

But if two friends do love and one fall sore, 
Most sure it is the twain are knit the more. 



86 



DISCOVERIES 



LXXIX. 

The poet discovereth why "the morning stars sang together," to 
wit, because song is the agreement of all creation, the acclamation of 
all things together. 

Song questioned thus : What doth resemble me ? 

"A flower." Not so — it is a silent thing. 

"Dew-drops." Not so — they soon exhaled be. 

"The air." Not so — 'tis tossed and flurrying. 

"Well then, a tree." Not so— the greenery falls. 

"A babbling brook." Not so— it will not stay. 

"The billowy sea." Not so — its roar appalls. 

"Well then, a breeze." Not so — it blows away. 

"White marble's magical sheen." Not so — too bold. 

"Why, then, I say the sky." Not so— too changing. 

"The mountain's glittering brow." Not so — too cold. 

"Bright children of the home." Not so — too ranging. 
Song asks, then tells, what image is her own : 
'Tis all things are, since naught avails alone, 



87 



DISCOVERIES 



LXXX. 

The poet discovereth how happy may be a waiting, because then 
all things around him become eloquent of his dear Comrade for whom 
he waiteth. 

Nay, come not soon, I pray thee — let me wait 

Long and still longer for thee ; for meanwhile 

All things around me take of thine estate, 

And mediately tender me thy smile. 

When thou shalt come, all things will be in one, 

Which one is thou ; and it is blissful so, 

For then I see thee as one only sun, 

That hides all things in heaven beneath his glow. 

But as when sun is gone, the heavens are pied 

With millioned messengers to tell his rate, 

O so, I joyous think, all things betide 

To mention thee and mind me. Let me wait. 

How rich art thou, who here such beauty showest, 
And all bright things report thee when thou goest. 



88 



DISCOVERIES 



LXXXI. 

The poet discovered what a treasury of shining memories the 
dear absence 01 his Comrade is. 

O, thou art like the prospect when eyes fill 
From mountain peak with watery meads and skies, 
Which when we leave, the heart doth act that hill, 
And spread the fair more fair in memory's eyes : 
Or thou art like a song whose transient sweet 
So precious sweet is it can ne'er be lost, 
But when it ceases in the air to beat, 
Its gentle tempest keeps the spirit tost ; 
Or, being my heavens, thine absence is a night 
Whose glorious stars but chronicle the sun, 
So as, if thou be gone, then every light 
New ministers to me what thou hast done. 
How rich art thou, who, if thou be away, 
Dottest thy night of absence with the day. 



89 



■DISCOVERIES 



LXXXII. 

The poet discovereth further that the dear absence of his Comrade 
doth no more than break the one light of her into ten thousand 
sparkles. 

Much have I pondered how thou 'rt like the skies, 

Being in bend so heavenly over me ; 

But now I have awaked mine inward eyes, 

And thy both here-day and far -night I see. 

When thou art with me, that dear day, thy face, 

Extinguisheth all fellow lights soever ; 

But if thou leave me, that doth make all space 

A vault of lights that tell of thee forever. 

Thy presence being th' sun, thine absence night, 

Thus like the sky, thou 'rt multiplied to me ; 

Aye here, thou wert but one self-telling light, 

But gone, the twinkling rondure histories thee. 
How rich art thou, who, faring near or far, 
Break'st night wi' thy sun, or with sun-ushered star. 



90 



DISCOVERIES 



LXXXI1I. 

The poet discovereth that burdens are "no respecters of persons." 
There be rich men's burdens, and poor men's burdens. Blest is he 
who hath roomy heart for both. 

For the woes of the poor I am very sorry indeed ; 
For the woes of the rich I am very sorry for sure : 
'Twere a world of "ancient angels" with love a-speed, 
If the poor would pity the rich, the rich the poor. 
Alas, to the wealthy I come of an indigent seed ; 
Alas, to the poor I am one of the fortunate rich : 
Midway I stand in my small affairs, and heed 
The cry from each side, the houses grand, and ditch. 
Methinks 'twere worth a life to have one sight 
O' the world as truly 'tis to perfect vision, 
Where last are first, first last, and all made right 
In judgment where no craft is, nor misprision. 

Yet faith 's but joy i' the distance ; for this I know : 
Since thus 'tis there, on earth it shall be so. 



91 



DISCOVERIES 



LXXXIV. 

M. M. L. 

The poet discovereth in his experience what he hath read in the 
Stoics : "When thou wouldst be happy, think on the good qualities 
of those who live with thee." 

I know a golden ink wherein might dip 

A diamond-pointed pen, of thee to write ; 

But how to make that golden virtue drip 

From but a common pen, I have no sight. 

Thy soul it is, that well so richly gilt, 

Which then the sun, thy beauty, characters ; 

But from my sad-poor verse in vain 'lis spilt, — 

I cannot write what most my soul prefers. 

But thus I shrive me : Who, O, who could write thee, 

Who in thy beauty dip sufficient verse ? 

O, none could ever ! Then let me indite thee, 

Since I, where all must fail, can do no worse. 
I do beseech thee, beautiful dear friend, 
Blame not my venture, though thou praise an end. 



D I S C O V E R I.ES 



LXXXV. 

M. M. L. 

i he poet discovered* again, by example, how much he rejoiceth 
in Proverbs XXXI, 10-31. 

Some with the corn replace the slony brake, 
By some where brambles stood the barley blows, 
Some warm the marsh to water-blooms and "make 
The wilderness to blossom like the rose." 
Some on the sea a mighty city build, 
Carved fronts set thick in ranks, and temples lone, 
As men the green and salty furrows tilled 
To grow these flowery miracles of stone. 
But thee, fine soul, I see excel them all, 
On vaster garden-ground or building-plot 
Whereon a richer sun and rain do fall, 
The smiles of love, sweet tears where grief is not. 
What 's citadel to thee, or grain or flowers, 
Who build'st a towery home on sandy hours ! 



93 



DISCOVERIES 



LXXXVI. 

The poet discovereth in the following ten Sonnets that fancy and 
language are like an illimitable sea and a wide estuary thereof, from 
which I take up a little shining water in my palm. This discovery 
came to pass as follows : Reading Shakespeare's Sonnet LXIII, it 
occured to me to try how long I could continue to put the same matter 
into different fancies and words. Drawing out then the substance of 
the Sonnet into formal statements, thus : 

I anticipate the time when my love shall be as old as I am : 
Her youth will become age, and all her beauties will vanish : 
But I shall give her perpetual youth by my verse : 

I waited till Shakespeare's words and imagery had faded from mem- 
mory, and then I made the ten Sonnets which I set down here in the 
order of their composition. V/ith this I ceased to write, not because 
I felt stopped or emptied in any manner ; but because I could see no 
end of fancies and words crowding close around the matter of 
Shakespeare's Sennet, — rather both images and syllables promised 
occupation with it forever ; and it was no little pleasure to discover 
how kindly and thick come the tropes and the words when the in- 
tention and the matter are finely limited and clear. 



94 



DISCOVERIES 



I. 

As I am old, 'tis sure my love will be, 
If earth she bless still with her gentle life, 
And in her, as in all things fair, I see 
Harsh time and beauties frail will be at strife. 
The early morning of her graces sweet, 
That rose upon poor me like dawn on night, 
To evening of its own descendeth fleet, 
And dimned with weepy age hath lost his light. 
Foreseeing this, I say, I suffer not 
That my sweet love's sweet beauty fail like day 
For I have magic that prevails, I wot, 
To ward from her time's rusty blight away. 
Such necromancy is this living verse 
Her beauty shall with ages far converse. 



95 



DISCOVERIES 



2. 

This I foresee, that chilly age will rip 
From my sweet love those graces she doth wear, 
And from her all her beauty's foliage strip, 
Dropping it leaf by leaf in wintry air. 
Each beauty that in face or form is bright, 
Bright in itself, and with its fellows fairer, 
Freebooter Age with force doth ravish quite, 
Spoiling of all her gems my love, the wearer. 
But if my love alone cannot defeat 
The wreckful buffet of this robber Age, 
How can perchance my power her beauty meet 
And they together baffle all his rage ? 

Why thus, that in this verse she doth remain 
With all her beauty to all futures plain. 



96 



DISCOVERIES 



The future none foretells, save only this, 
That rolling time wheels mocking age apace, 
Who at sweet beauty mocks, and doth not miss 
To rive the dearest fair from dearer face. 
O love, my love, my heart is comfortless 
To know such precious beauty sure must vanish ; 
Sweet hues, sweet forms, all lovely comeliness 
In my love's frame this scoffing Age will banish. 
And yet some comfort I by mercy take 
From this, that thy sweet beauty, ere it perish, 
A lodge of my adoring verse doth make, 
That I my verse, my verse that beauty, cherish. 
So my rich verse, being new-enriched with thee, 
Both so twice fair, both shall immortal be. 



97 



D I S C O V E R I E S 



4. 
Mine own carved brow doth tattle to my sight 

I hat st) my love's I. in brow shall bo anon, 
And every youth! ul front must yield his right, 

I ike .1 smooth marble thai Time cuts upon. 
The old engraver Age chooseth the Fairest 

On whom to crowd his lines soonest and most. 

As so resolved to make a picture rarest. 

On substance finest, then with line impost. 

So as mine eye knoweth my love, that she 

Is Fairest fair where lair is all the rule. 

So dotli my heart forebode fell Age will be 

Most eager on her with his delving tool. 

Hut here the rescue is, that this strong rhyme 
Cuts her youth's beauty on memorial time. 



98 



DISCOVERIES 



5. 

She who defieth care must bend to age, 

Even my sweet love, on whose dear brow serene 

Care hath no point to ink a frowning page, 

But years, ill scribes, write lines with blots between. 

Even so glorious beauty as my love's 

Can make no prince's claim with vulgar Time, 

Who king and serf alike his one way shoves, 

And makes up all to play Death's common mime. 

Therefore my love, though mighty she doth seem 

By her dear beauty's might, will fade like all ; 

But herein is my use, as I do deem, 

To copy her in verse before she fall. 

Her beauty 'tis my lines doth beauty give, 
That they die not ; and she in them shall live. 



99 



DISCOVERIES 



6. 

Foreseeing this, that my dear love must grow 
As old as I, if she do live as long, 
And ditches like my own her brow will show, — 
Foreseeing this, it teacheth me my song. 
As rose -fair morning which I know the noon 
Will tread on with his yellow flaming feet, 
So sing I my love's beauty which too soon 
Will be burned out with life's too fiery heat. 
'Tis sure I can not shield her from hot Time 
Who scorcheth on her brow his wrinkles bare, 
Nor keep the dewy rose of her sweet prime 
Fresh on her temples where 'tis now so fair. 
But Age, that her and me subdues, my rhyme 
So worsts that her sweet youth shall season time. 



100 



DISCOVERIES 



7. 

If any sweet could have perpetual youth, 
Be sure my sweet love could, who is so fair 
That like the sun or stars or faith or truth, 
Time, that spoils all, must such a beauty spare. 
Yet when I look upon her, first I see 
The sweet rose of her dawn, and then behold 
With sad mind's eye it dureth not for me, 
But runneth swift into a twilight cold. 
I know the lovely flushes of her brow 
And all the opal pulses o'er her cheek, 
Will pale, dapple or wrinkle like me now, 
When Time on her his sullen will shall wreak. 
But by this verse what dureth not for me, 
Liveth forever for all men to see. 



101 



DISCOVERIES 



8. 

What can gainsay the naughty knock of Time, 
Or not must open to his battering blow ; 
What hill or battlement he will not climb 
To wreck the beauty that 's defended so ? 
Time that hath conquered me, and razed my brow, 
That was so proud, to motes of low estate, 
Will foil my love, though high-perched beauty now 
Have strength to make Time's conquest slow and late. 
Here on a turret of her fair content 
Her flushing beauty tip-toes to kin morn ; 
But soon, unless such ill I can prevent, 
Age will o'errun the walls with wrack forlorn, 

But I can castle her in rhyme so brave 

That in it she defieth change or grave. 



10; 



DISCOVERIES 



By what in me is furrowed, dim and gray, 
I am fore-told my love must e'en be so — 
She that 's so beauteous bright, unhanded, gay, 
Must to these thin and swart contractions grow. 
She hales me now as morning lights the hills 
When the blue sky is smooth, but pulsed with rose 
But O, on dawn and noon the rolling axle spills 
No surer night than will her beauty close. 
O, what can I, who love my love full well, 
What can I do to save her from this plight ? 
O, nothing ; but this "powerful rhyme" shall tell 
Oft and far off what beauties were her right. 
Her beauty so I gird, and spite Time's ruth, 
That this verse lives, and in it lives her youth. 



103 



DISCOVERIES 



10. 

At night to forecast morn no wiser shows 
Than at gold morn to promise ebony night ; 
Wherefore my age a practice is that shows 
Her lustrous years will pale to clingy plight. 
But when her youth that now so golden runs, 
So flushed and golden in the beamy east, 
And her most ruddy courage that nothing shuns, 
But what 's most sure to come it feareth least, 
When this her lovely rose, I say, shall wither, 
And drop its ruby scoops upon the ground, 
Because the winter of her age comes hither, 
And with a chilly white doth lap her round, 

Then shall this verse perpetual youth give to her, 
And from her grace far times be graced to view her. 



104 



DISCOVERIES 



LXXXVII. 

M. L. M. 

The poet discovereth how frail his expression is, and how much 
his art faileth him when most he needs it ; for he hath not the where- 
withal to match the lovely virtues of his friend. 

Me thinks if I were this, or this, or that, 
With what a valor I would sphere thee round, 
And whatsoever grace did me abound, 
Thy foot should tread it as a velvet mat. 
Were I a crowned king and throned sat, 
And thou an artist girl, line could not sound 
Thy riches of titles and of rank renowned 
Should nil, unmoved thou, world's empty chat. 
A hoary miner I, thou country lass, 
I 'd drown thee in gold ; or did I plow or paint, 
I 'd lattice thee with flowers of field or art. 
But now I so am naught, in such a pass, 
So barren my hand, its all is this complaint, 
That 'tis but court fool to a sad royal heart. 



105 



DISCOVERIES 



LXXXVIIL 

L. B. B. 

The poet discovcreih how humbly what is ending, how< • 
alted, should look on a beginning, however young or lowly. 

The lustre on my name, dear little child, 
Mingled with thine, how can I rate it now ? 
Tis first thy father's honor undefiled, 
UnUushed in all my memories on his brow : 
'1 is then thy mother's womanly estate, 
Gentle, sweet, high, serene, courageous, strong : 
So being each one separately great, 
Together joined they out -sound all my so 
Yet that praise I can see and partly measure, 
As they this small and visible sum of me : 
O, who can rim the pcrad ventured treasure 
Where golden Time may gild a time with thee ? 
Thy lovely sires, poor I, we pass in view — 
So much, and done ; unmade skies wait for you. 



106 



D I S C O V E R I E S 



LXXXIX. 

The poet discovercth lhat song is ihc rhythmical march of all 
the families of things done into syllables. 

Sweet song comes timc-ing at my laggard ear, 
Like a fine horologe that gnomic hands 
Hold to me where my shell of audience stands, 
That I the admonitions sure must hear. 
Come, saith this watch of song, at morning clear, 
Awake thy spirit, dullard ; see where sands 
Run out the sable hours, and crimson brands 
Illume the musical dawn. Up! sing, for cheer ! 
Eke at meridian ticks this pendule, saying, 
Day 's at the full — sin:^ ! At evening soon 
Its monotones betune sweet drowsy rest : 
Nor lacks it me i' the holy midnight, praying 
That I may pray in song ; and this my boon, 
That my beloved ones with some song be blest. 



io> 



DISCOVERIES 



XC. 

R— I. 

The poet discovereth in memory how lovely shone his dear 
daughter on the midnight boat-ride, when she was like golden and 
silvery beams over the black hollows of the waters. 

Midnight, half-moon, and thee, dearly beloved, 
Midnignt, half-moon, and thee, upon the lake, 
The skiff into the sweet obscure out-shoved, 
The oars with dip and drip kindling a wake ! 
Tis last fond hours, fair Blemitoba wanes, 
Wanes like the moon, for like the moon 'tis light ; 
The tender shadowy bosom entertains 
Our boat's last nestle in the guileless night. 
Shore -fringing woods are mute, not a leaf sighs ; 
The very lake is moored, not a wave ripples : 
Far halts the camping cloud, not a mist fiies ; 
The verdured pools are void, not a fish tipples. 
The hour is peace, the place is love ; unfurl 
These from my soul, loose them to heaven, sweet girl. 



108 



D I S C O V E RIES 



xci. 

R-l, R-h. 

The poet discovered what delight it is to discourse of his two, 
who are as twin to his eyes as to his love. 

Ye are dear two, yet unto me dear one, — 

So sweetly single to mine eyes that heart, 

What sight hath not distinguished, sure had done 

Vain industry to sunder or dispart. 

When both are here, ye double all the hours, 

That in one semblance have two presences ; 

When one is gone, so rich your mutual powers 

One speaketh e'en by th' other's silences. 

But when ye both are gone, my day tells night 

She is encroaching 'fore and past her season, 

So hasty is the dark, so tardy light, 

While eyes that find you not scarce purge of treason. 
Yet th' near and far, like you, main one doth seem, 
For with my dears all skies and places teem. 



109 



DISCOVERIES 



XCII. 

R-l. 
The poet discovereth that his absent girl extendelh the domestic 
fireside : for the true hearthstone is where mutual solicitudes burn. 

My precious girl that wanderest far and fast, 

So travel I in all thy journeyings ; 

For not a city visited thou hast, 

But thither me love's vigilancy brings. 

Arrives!: thou — I feel the loneliness : 

Thou seek'st a place— the searching eke I do: 

Thou sitt'st forlorn — I feel the homesickness: 

A tear perchance — mine eyes it washes too. 

By this I bid thee comfort, darling girl, 

As eke I find it comfort unto me : 

For peace domestic vanquishes the whirl, 

When me betides what eke betideth thee. 

O thanks for bonds no space can rend or strain, 
Which tie in comforts and tie out the pain. 



110 



DISC O V E R I E S 



XCIII. 

The poet discovered fearfully that, as he understands not the 
mottled mystery of human lots, so he knoweth not how to take his 
own lot. 

When that I laid me in my bed last night, 
My warm bed clean with comfort made me pray, 
And two strange wonderments forth leaped to light, 
That I cried out aloud, and thus did say : 
I wonder, in this woeful city -full, 
Who that one is this hour that surfers most ; 
i wonder 'mid the frolics plentiful, 
What that heart is that's gayest of the host. 
Blithest or saddest? God ! I can not tell, 
Nor how thou seest, Lord, in thine own light : 
Racked one, thy pangs my shrinking spirit quell ; 
Gay one, mayhap thou'st lost thy soul to-night. 
God grant it be not wicked in me here 
To be so tucked in comforts and in cheer. 



Ill 



DISCOVERIES 



XCIV. 

S. D. M, 
The poet discovereth that a rose left on his desk by daughter- 
hands hath extention to make the room, the day, verse and memory 
rosy, 

And rosy is upon my desk the vase, 

And rosy is the table's self therewith, 

And rosy is the room and all the place, 

And rosy is the air therein to breathe : 

And aptly so, for fragrant June is rosy, 

And doubly so, for June with thee is rosy, 

And thrice for me, for thy sweet gift is rosy, 

And four times so — my soul with love is rosy : 

Now rosy memory glows, and eke my hope, 

My rosy joy grows starry in my dreams, 

In rosy strife the night and morning cope, 

And rosy Evening is, as maid beseems : 
If rosy all by thee to me, more rosy 
Than rose is be to thee my fancy's posy. 



112 



DISCOVERIES 



XCV. 

The poet discovered again that Song is a waiting angel ever, and 
never too far off to come quickly. 

O pray thee, pray thee, pray thee, Song, come back, 
From thy far hiding come, and rich array me, 
Nor ever, ever, ever go, but stay thee 
To block anxieties and mantle wrack. 
In pains, losses and fears, give me the knack 
To sing of thee and them, and high purvey me 
Sweet joy, freedom and flight, nor let betray me 
My simple love and song, nor every lack. 
More sweetly, softly, brightly, featly singing 
Than wooing laverock in an April morn 
When day and love together vie in light, 
More fearless, careless, tireless, peerless springing 
Than a bird's flight above all things forlorn, 
From heavens I see earth then with heavens dight. 



113 



DISCOVERIES 



XCVI. 

The poet discovered, with thinking of his Ccmrade, that some 
prayers, even for virtue, may be too bold. 

Kind Heaven, make me worthy, worthy her — 
That is a prayer I venture not to say, 
Being frighted the impossible to pray ; 
That great petition I dare not prefer. 
Sweet Heaven, less unworthy, unworthy her, 
O, help me be so this so-blessed day : 
For that dear boon I dare ask as I may ; 
That greatness, though so great, on me confer. 
Let me aim high, but humbly high as well, 
That I be not amerced in sum of shame, 
As if, waving my arms, I boasted wings. 
Like to the stars whose mystical heights expel 
A pride of rising to them, her sweet fame 
Breaks level thoughts, but lights my lowly springs. 



114 



DISCOVERIES 



XCVII. 

The poet discovereth that he is equal to everything he may have 
to do or bear ; for there is one power wherein God giveth us his al- 
mightiness. 

One thing in me is infinite, in one 
I wear the Lord's glory : therein doth he 
Eternal dwell, and though almightily 
Doth work, greater than I he maketh none. 
For bring me what I can not bear ! The sun 
Beholds no hard story, nor stars can see 
Them anywhere, the which too fearful be 
For me, or leave my unbound soul undone. 
Of what I bear I more can bear ; I pay 
No debt can beggar me. What limit then 
Doth hem me in ? Certes to sing or pray 
Or know, thoughts or to think or put to pen, 
Finite in these I walk a wailed v/ay, 
But passion of patience is free of God to men. 



115 



DISCOVERIES 



XCVIII. 

The poet discovereth a large reasoning, blissful to him, in two 
grand lines of Shakspeare, Sonnet CXLV1. 

"So shalt thou feed on Death that feeds on men," 

If only thou as bravely kill as he ; 

"And Death once dead, there's no more dying then," 

For thou thyself kill'st all can mortal be. 

'Tis not that shell, thy body, provokes the tomb ; 

Like the fair cabinet that gems doth hold, 

If but the gems be good, what recks the doom 

O' the velvet pyx, though it consume to mould ? 

Therefore kill all that can the jewel attack, 

As rust, flaw, scratch, or what defames its beauty ; 

Then when Death stealthy peeps, he must go pack ; 

Thou hast foredone, he flees for lack of duty. 

What can Death whisper thee of murderous fears, 
If once thou kill all thy fain mortal ears? 



116 



DISCOVERIES 



XCIX. 

The poet discovereth how blissfully multiply the intimations of a 
beatifical change for us, wherein we are "not lost, but gone before." 

Saith Song, "Full fathom five thy father lies," 
And "Of his bones are coral made," Song saith ; 
And under the bright water merry Death 
Playeth his tricks v/ith him of gay surprise : 
Song singeth, "Those are pear's that were his eyes," 
And "Nothing of him that doth fade," Song saith, 
"But doth suffer a sea-change ;" and his breath 
R.uns "Into something rich and strange" who dies. 
Water doth men, but air doth fishes, drown ; 
So either goeth of like breathless dearth. 
Methinks the sky a sea deep up and down, 
Wherein men falling sofly smother from earth, 
And "suffer a sea-change" that hath a crown 
Of "something rich and strange," with most sweet mirth. 



117 



DISCOVERIES 



C. 

The poet discovereth that wishes and fancies are often but 
ingratitudes trickily drest, and he prayeth to rate rightly the 
common joys of his lot. 

Begone, vain figments ! Ingrates, I say ye shame me ! 
My day 's more crammed with joys than night with dreams; 
Nor Greek, nor Finn, nor saga, none, can name me 
Such marvels as do mix me in their streams. 
Living with present nymphs and ghosts that love me, 
With wonders, romance, 'neath lamps imperial, 
In temples with choirs, 'tis pity if above me 
I slretch a cloth for painted festival. 
'Tis bad to be dreaming unbeholden, thankless 
Mid marching joys and bannered companies 
Curveting round me to enlist me, rankiess 
And straggling still mid lovely braveries ! 
O for the piety to drink the earth, 
Like glorious wine from golden cups of mirth. 



118 



DISCOVERIES 



CI. 

L. L. W. 

The poet discovereth by thinking on his grand friend who hath 
long gone from earth, that joyful love is nothing short of a humble 
piety toward all excellence and beauty. 

O Friend, if but my love might be as fair 
As thou wert here at first, now in translation, — 
If but my heart might be as high in station 
As thine, here first, and now in upper air, — 
If I might summon memory to declare 
As well of me as in me 'tis creation 
Once more of thy sweet beauties' congregation, 
Then were my love fit flight unto thee there. 
But now as 'tis not so, what can I give, 
What with me do, what make myself to be, 
To mount the starry stairs where thou dost live ? 
This only can 5, — look up high, and see, 
Till love, with piety contemplative, 
Loving thy grace, grow fit for loving thee. 



119 



DISCOVERIES 



CII. 

The poet discovereth that the morning is no more a time for his 
peepers to open than a time for his soul to see, and see gloriously. 

To waken in the morning is a glory ! 

Suppose I carry weights, I carry them ; 

Suppose my yesterday is piteous story — 

Its arrows are far spent, I parry them. 

Suppose some children look to drink my smiling — 

I fill their little cups, and tarry them ; 

Suppose sly minxes, cares, are sore beguiling — 

Behold, I turn a Turk, and marry them. 

Bah ! Bite your claws, ye gripping grisly things, 

Vultures extant or Gorgons old of story : 

Ye reach not me on freshet tost, that brings 

Me in the morning to a coast of glory. 
D' ye think to nip me dozing by the pool 
Where ye come drinking ? I am no such fool. 



120 



DISCOVERIES 



CHI. 

The poet discovereth that Nature so befriendeth a good lover, that 
when he is restrained from going to his Comrade, he can bring her to 
him by the virtue of his thoughts. 

Time was when I could daily sing my love, 
And toss my songs like birds into the air, 
And they straightway would fly men's heads above 
And nestle in the bosom of my fair. 
But now I am so parted, banned so far, 
Not even my scrip, once winged, hath leave to fly 
To be with love, with thee, where blisses are, 
And to thy heart's ear take me, and heart's eye. 
But now that so twice lonely is thy lover, 
And may not thee my spirit daily render, 
This dear consolement doth my heart discover : 
To bring thee to my soul by thoughts more tender. 
Let things do all their spite to make us part, 
' Tis so they do but build thee in my heart. 



121 



DISCOVERIES 



CIV. 

The poet discovereth that his constancy unto his Comrade is a bliss 
and virtue which all Nature feeds with approvals and resemblances. 

" Since all alike my songs and praises be, 
To one, of one, still such, and ever so," * 
Thou dost prevail like Nature's constancy : 
All worth, that sum, this verse, I happy owe. 
Doth not the sun ride ever at his hour, 
And glisten still with all his antique gold, 
And punctual Dian lamp the trysting bower 
With beams too soft to make sweet love less bold ? 
Thereto the constant stars sprinkle themselves : 
Perpetual vapors fund the jeweled rain : 
This thrills, that hums, one swims, another delves : 
What thing hath use but constancy's the main ? 
Thus if of thee still so and all I sing, 
The general grace thou setst in me a -spring, 



* Shakespeare, Sonnet CV. 



122 



DISC QUERIES 



CV. 

The poet discovereth that, although love hath a natural sweet 
secrecy, yet it hath also a proper joy of proclamation ; and he maketh 
the birth-day of his Comrade such a season. 

" That love is merchandiz'd whose rich esteeming 
The owner's tongue doth publish everywhere : " * 
Yet hath the sun day's warrant for his beaming, 
And other suns leave not night's brow un-fair. 
Though love be native to " sweet silent session ", 
Methinks, as night's stars fly the day, day's night, 
So there is season for a bright confession, 
And season also for concealed light. 
Whence on this day that sunned thee in thy coming 
And hung the night-lights of thy mother's pain, 
'Tis soul's right thrift to set my love a-summing, 
And publish Time's account of heart's dear gain. 
O, had thy mother known her wealth was mine, 
More thanks express had filled both voice and eyne. 



Shakespeare, Sonnet CII. 



123 



DISCOVERIES 



CVI. 

The poel discovereth that song hath a more magical entrance to 
his Comrade than epistles have; being come to her eyes, it hath also 
a voice for her ear, and carries afar over all obstacles, as music doth. 

By song I can defy all unkind things 
That now with spite do part us far asunder ; 
My music most myself unto thee brings, 
And bids thy heart's eye see me with new wonder. 
For if the spiteful lets were passed and over, 
And I were with thee, what more could I do 
Than show thee that thy whilom lonely rover 
Hath still a soul that constant is to you ? 
But now my song doth so, and makes a map 
That showelh all the spirit of thy lover, 
As much as if I had the blissful hap 
Around and in thy dear abode to hover. 
Then let the spiteful things do all their spite, 
Since that my rightful song hath greater right. 



124 



^DISCOVERIES 



CVII. 

The poet discovcreth what good servants enemies are ; and 'tis no 
reason to be thankless for their offices that they serve unwittingly. 

O, how inglorious is mine enemy, 
That can not do me in my soul a wrong, 
Yet in my soul serves me unpurposely, 
Face giving me to face my lover's song ! 
How could I bear the burden of such fame, 
Being so much too much cherished and beloved, 
But that some foes have countered love with blame, 
This way have spited me and that way shoved ? 
As, when excess hath shocked the eye with light, 
The remedy is shade, so are my foes 
The dark to which I run, curing the bright 
Too much and too sweet love my friend bestows. 
No triumph hath the mightiest enemy, 
Who thus despite him serves me blessedly. 



125 



DISCOVERIES 



CVIII. 

The poet discovereth that there is a central strength and soundness 
of heart from which all greatness must issue. 

There is a stock at core of us like zone 
Of granite at earth's axis. The milky eyes 
That wink and sparkle in that fiery stone 
Overlook the deep flames nimbly, leaping to skies : 
Th' imperial rock, unworn with tramping blaze, 
Juts from the inmost of the smithy earth, 
Crops on the soil, the needle peaks doth raise, 
And on all upper airs hath writ his birth. 
So doth the stock that round round heart doth wrap 
Jut into all our doings ; no soil or hill 
Of day's behaviors but doth show a cap 
Of necessary main cropping, abiding still. 

Full-royal deed ne'er came of yokel heart ; 

What seemed a grandeur still is mean in part. 



126 



D I S C O V E R I E S 



CIX. 

The poet discovered that love- speech should have in it the qual- 
ities of all righteous experience, and he entreateth words from his 
Comrade. 

Speak to me, gentle and gracious soul, speak now ; 
But first remember our bond, and let mine arm 
Clasp thee around ; and first remember our vow, 
And lock me to thy heart where is no harm : 
And first remember our love, and take my kiss, 
And then remember our love, and give me thine : 
Remember our tie, and give me thy hand's bliss ; 
Remember our names, and how they do entwine : 
Remember the marveled mystical completeness— 
Nor precious less than mystical 'tis done 
Whereby from bosom of a mutual sweetness 
The milky founts of love more richly run. 

Remember thus, heart's dearest love ; then meek 
As is thy soul, proud as I 'd have thee, speak ! 



127 



DISCOVERIES 



CX. 

The poet discovereth that the beauties of his Comrade's appearance 
are unto her soul like the stars, whose greatest splendor 'tis that they 
hang in infinite heavens. 

" O, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best, 

Of hand, of lip, of foot, of eye, of brow," * 
I am amazed so little joy 's addrest 
The praise of heart, of mind, of soul to vow. 
Sweet is my love, and sweet, I know full well, 
Her hand or lip or brow is to caress ; 
And yet that fair, that pink, 's but cockle shell 
That doth but case her soul's bright inwardness. 
Not loth, but joyed, I woo me to her breast ; 
Yet I would not bepraise that sweetness most : 
All sweet, indeed, her every beauty's crest ; 
Yet still, I say, her gentle heart 's my boast. 

The beauties of her under-garment I 

Whisper her soul ; her grace aloft I cry. 



* Shakespeare, Sonnet CVI. 



128 



DISC O V E R I E S 



CXI. 

The poet discovered in the springtide that, as his eyes rouse to the 
new light, so waketh his heart to be new-reverent of the old love. 

O I have marked a young spring morning kiss 
With his first beams the first green of the trees, 
And I have said, what joy is joy like this, 
Or what caresses golden like to these ? 
O when that bright and beamy morn did look 
On the dear firstlings of the April hours, 
With what a bliss their budding touch he took, 
With what a warm persuasion plied the bowers. 
Ne'er yet did that young archer of the skies 
Make arrows of his rays for swifter wooing, 
Nor spend the light of his love -launching eyes 
Where gold young green more dashed his fainter doing. 
Yet not so dazzled are his eyes as mine, 
And ere he kissed the tree-breasts I had thine. 



129 



DISCOVERIES 



CXII. 

The poet discovereth that if he hath no power to be to his dear 
Comrade all she maketh herself to him, yet in one thing he dareth to 
claim level place with her, namely, in his aspiration to be fellow in 
utmost possible. 

Sweet friend, sweet love, sweet lover, best in life, 
Sweet fellow of all my hopes in what beseems 
Me well to put at venture in the strife, 
All my dear hopes, or fears, or deeds or dreams, — 
As thou dost fellow me in all these things, 
And all of all, nor ever absent art, 
But in what fickle Fortune daily brings, 
Or double-daily, meet'st it with thy heart, 
O, let me be in one round-heavenly way 
Thine equal, and with pairing virtue shine ; 
Once, if but once, O, let me be, I say, 
Unshamed to set thy perfectness by mine : 

To fellow thee in all I can not own ; 

Yet let me fellow thy fellowing alone. 



130 



DISCOVERIES 



CXIII. 

The poet discovereth that the " personal realm " hath a mysterious 
sanctity, and to pass the bounderies of that realm by word, or by 
touch and caress, is occasion for great conscience and awe. 

I would not love thee with a common term, 
As " sweetheart," " lady-love," or other chimes 
Of little syllables and pretty rhymes 
Wherewith love's loud protesters do affirm : 
I do perceive therein but windy germ 
Of slight, unfruiting things, if even it climbs 
At all to sight, or more than feeds betimes 
Th' inheritor of all excess, the worm. 
Not so, beautiful spirit, would I press 
Within thy body's pathways to thy soul, 
Giving and asking arms' circumference ; 
But with a terror rate each dear caress, 
Fall slow religious words, as great bells toll, 
And feel, though near, as thou wert heaven-far hence. 



131 



DISCOVERIES 



CXIV. 

The poet discovereth suddenly in memory a fine scripture from 
Tauler, to- wit: "Why do my eyes behold the heavens, and not my 
feet? Because my eyes are more like the heavens than my feet." 

My soul asked of the heavens what 'twas they meant 
By their shape, wherefore that rondure huge and high 
Was eke so blue, and the pendency o' the sky 
Tessellated with stars, and what th' intent 
O' the sun and moon and silver dust y-sprent 
By day and night i' the vault, and soothly why 
These blazing things had contract with mine eye, 
And entered that small house, and in it brent 
Their firmamental fires ; but thus they spake 
In turn, questioning me : What 's thine espial 
That doth report thee what the heavens have done, 
Thy wondrous orb wherein again we break 
To lustrous sparks and set our golden dial ? 
For eyes and heavens are one, in One, of One. 



132 



D I S C O V E RIES 



cxv. 

The poet discc-vereth that he is not to be pardoned if he liveth not 
evermore with great company. 

Up ! where the majesties go, where thoughts assemble 
Ermined in honor o' the levy, where 's glorious stately 
Presence of gentle nobility, and heart a-tremble 
Feeling the weight o* the world ; where richly and greatly 
Shine souls devout i* the love that ne'er will brook 
A bourne to love, but from religious height 
Surveys the world, nor ever yet forsook 
A nobly needy cause fallen in fight, 
Down, and scornfully trampled ; where mighty mortals 
Pitch a heroical siege, till the eastward brilliance 
Forces the gate o' the darkness, and wicked portals, 
Beaded with the dank o' the night, burst at the radiance. 

O, up ! where these glories be and heaven rings ! 

Up to them and live with them— leave small things. 



133 



DISCOVERIES 



CXVI. 

The poet discovereth, when he arriveth at the morning, that the 
golden mind 

11 its mirror spreads 
Beneath the golden skies, 
And but a narrow strip between 
Of land and shadow lies;" 
or no strip at all, the waking and the heavens being like sea and shore. 

Methought the sun and I awoke together 
When the day dawned, each was so fresh and freed ; 
Nor did I vex my spirit to think whether 
'Twas light led me, or I of light had lead. 
For when I opened eyes, my thought was light, 
And eke the light was thought, or so it looked, 
And which was I or mine or heavens bright, 
Which first, to ask I neither dreamed nor brooked. 
I only certain was that lapped I lay, 
Lapped in the light, thought, self, etherial blue, 
My love, or the sweet space, my soul, or day; 
What bounds or confines were I saw nor knew. 
Methought I waked seeing the sun-up done, 
Or say that that blaze waked me, or 'twas one. 



134 



DISCOVERIES 



CXVII. 

The poet discovered, when he arriveth at the morning, how 
excellently he is greeted by all the rich equipage of day. 

When I awoke this day, 'twas very bright ; 
The lucent east was streaming to the west, 
Even to the west extreme, where, journey-drest 
In red-piped gray, set forth departing night. 
I marveled with what courtesy the light, 
With what sweet courtesy, as host to guest, 
Brought rosy pages, garnished in their best, 
And early roused, to say God-speed aright. 
And then, methought, shutting that frontwise door, 
They through the palace eastward to me raced, 
And widely flung the portal garden-faced 
Where I came rearward in familiarly, 
And plucked me with gay greetings 'hind and 'fore, 
And made a noise of welcome jocundly. 



135 



LECTELS 



C T E L S 



LECTELS 

Bertha L. asked me whether I ever had noticed the effect of the 
words repeated from line to line in George Herbert's "Wreath." 
The question was put during a glorious evening on Lake Michigan. 
It led to a pondering, the outcome whereof was the following poetic 
form. Whether the sweet, plashing, monotonous murmur of the 
water, joined with the steady thumping of the mechanical motion of 
the vessel, had some hidden delicate influence on the evolvement of 
the form, I can not say. It has seemed to me a good form for a certain 
familiar and simple discoursing in verse. Hence the name — Lectel. 
Its recurrences of words, the catching up again of expressions, is of 
the manner of easy and free converse; and this quality is further 
reinforced by the reiterant rhyming, there being only three rhymes in 
the nine lines, and one of these massed wholly in the middle stanza. 
Let me add that some good will and good habit or skill in reading is 
needful, in order to deal well, which is to say, both intelligently and 
musically, with the reiterated syllables. 



139 



L E C T E L 

CLOUDS 

I can not look through clouds : what of 't, I say — 
I say, what of 't? On them 's enough to look, 
To look straight on them, full front-face by day. 

Beholding objects hiding rays o' the sun, 
I see them interfused with light o' the sun, 
Upstanding tenderly in front o' the sun. 

By day, alas ! eyes blind, or turned astray, 
Astray or far, my cloud-heaps I forsook, 
Forsook them faithless ; so gave light away. 

BLITHE SONGS 

As viols speed the feet in their gay glances, 
Gay glances over waxen floors full light, 
Full light my song 's the tune when my heart dances. 

For if my heart 's so glad that aye it trippeth, 
And if it can not hold, but aye it skippeth, 
The time and tune song's rainy music drippeth. 

Heart dances like a child ; it hath sweet prances, 
Sweet prances to new tunes as old as night, 
As night, whose tunes be versing of sweet fancies. 



141 



L E C T E L I 

RENUNCIATION 

I would not task thee, O, my love, my own, 
My own, nor lay a burden to thy heart, 
Thy heart where I would have but joy be known. 

And yet I must impose a task on thee, 
For I would have thy love make choice of me, 
And that a very heavy task I see. 

Be known my wish is dead, drowned like a stone, 
A stone of task that love drowns from thy part : 
Thy part, therefore, must be to leave me lone. 

THE HEAVENS' FRIENDLINESS 

When the league and mounting of my soul awake, 
Awake unto my birthright of the sun, 
The sun shooteth his goldest for my sake : 

And I, even I, am no expanse too narrow 
To feel the toothing of that golden harrow, 
Each tooth the barb of a sun-golden arrow. 

My sake — it seems a motive to let break, 
Let break in floods, all glories to be done — 
Be done for me, even me, while heavens quake. 



142 



L E C T E L S 

A GULL AT MORNING 

" Thine own warm wing thy pillow was " all night, 
All night i' the resonant dark, and now at morn, 
At morn as musical, thou spread'st to light. 

Below thee rolls and reels the tumbling wave 
O' the lake's long undulations, that now lave 
Thy glossy silver, but now thy wing-toss gave. 

To light, I say, thy wing 's alert ; and bright, 
And brighter still, that ray my soul hath worn, 
Hath worn and aye will wear, for seeing thy flight. 

LOVE'S TILLING 

I am a tropic, ready for that sun, 
That sun thy love, to glow upon my soul : 
My soul's the soil — thy great deeds there be done. 

Lo, how I teem in mid of thy great ray, 
What verdurous thoughts on stems of fervor sway, 
What wild and pure luxuriance flowers alway ! 

Be done me all thy gendering, and run, 
And run to the deeps, thy beams through me, and roll, 
And roll like seas, thy love o'er me, dear one ! 



143 



L E C T E L S 

NATURE'S SWEETNESS 

How sweet the sun-light is — sweet, sweet, I think ! 
I think when " the earth was without form and void," 
And void in darkness, sweetness hung a-brink. 

Then God said, Let th' hid sweetness unhid be ! 
I will unloose it for my peoples three, 
Plant, beast and man, endeared unto me. 

A-brink the light, the first morn's saffron pink, 
On pink strewn feathery gold, smiled out so joyed — 
So joyed ! — light did for aye in sweetness sink. 

CHEER 

Tis pitiful if sun 's above, not in me, 
Not in me, yet refulgent through the earth, 
The earth whose larks cry, O, the heaven-lights win me ! 

There 's not an herb but blooms the sun a chamber, 
There 's not a dew -tip but 's a glowing ember, 
There 's not a cove but is a pool of amber. 

Lights win me if to light my soul doth kin me, 
Doth kin me to the orient of my birth, 
My birth that with all heavenly light should twin me, 



144 



L E C T E L S 

GRATEFULNESS 

Grateful is none unless dear thanks he brings, 
He brings with fervor, ceasing in no hour ; 
No hour can stem or stint the song he sings. 

For if the day be all replete with joy, 
And loves be dear, sweet tales without alloy, 
Then for the bliss may love his lips employ. 

He sings, natheless, the more when sly ill things, 
111 things, pile woes and call up all their powers ; 
Their powers but sweeter pour sweet memory's springs. 

DEAR WORDS 

I pray thee, speak me that sweet thing again, 
Again avow it, evermore renew it, 
Renew it every hour, no matter when. 

For it is like life's breath ! If I could breathe 
But once a day or week, it scarce could sheathe 
My soul with strength, my heart with gladness wreathe. 

Or when or where thou speak'st me, even if men, 
If men untender, be there, still I woo it : 
I woo it from thy heart-in-hiding then. 



145 



L E C TEL 

GOOD CHEER 

Awaked at morn, my heart is heavy for thee, 
For thee and thee and thee and thee, sweet friends, 
Sweet friends whose tally-heavy woes I see. 

But O, the sun hath shone since dawning long, 
And on my late -awakened eyes is strong, 
And floods the world with all his golden song. 

I see your griefs ; O, hear this song o' me, 
O' me repeated from heaven's shining ends 
In ends of earth, Let none unjoyful be. 

LIVING 

A-e(Obnt) 

If thou hadst died, I would not mark this day, 
This day of thy departure ; it were sad, 
Were sad and mad, to memorize decay. 

But of a truth death never touched thee, dear ; 
In thine aerial perfect sweetness here, 
Life swore an oath ; death could not interfere. 

Decay melts eyes, eyes' clients mould away, 
Away run th' ears' loud troopers ; but I have had, 
Have had and shall, my heavenly Own for aye. 



146 






C T 



SONG EVERYWHERE 

If that I stroll the wilderness o' the world, 
The world, I mind me, is savage like wild woods, 
Wild woods no wilder than fierce crowds wild-whirled. 

But in the forest, if acquaint with flowers, 
Sweet beings, and I know their fondling hours, 
They peep at me from all their secret bowers. 

Wild-whirled the town, here howling, there behurled, 
Behurled with routs ; yet songs under sweet hoods, 
Sweet hoods of flowery loves, peep out unfurled. 

POOR WORDS 

O, why can not my tongue reflect as well, 
As well as eye can, all thy beauties dear ? 
'Tis dear, 'tis passing sweet, thy fair to tell. 

And yet I can not ! There are ranks of being, 
Like to the heavens, easy to my seeing, 
Which still from every syllable go fleeing. 

To tell thy beauty needeth powers that dwell, 
That dwell and lighten, only in thee here : 
Thee here I see and love ; to speak I know no spell. 



147 



L E C T E L S 

DREAMING 

Good-morrow, beloved, this light, this sun-bright day 
Bright day as ever led off weepy night ! 
F night I have been wandering far astray. 

I dreamed I left thee, dear one, in the glow 
Of thy first sleep, and wandered high and low 
To get thee a posie where none seemed to grow. 

Astray I wandered, far and wide away, 
Away, but hailed at last fair flowers in sight ; 
In sight they were witched to this good -morrow I say. 

HOPE 

Yea, admirable Thales, well thou sayest, 
Thou sayest exceeding well, that 'tis fair Hope, 
Fair Hope, of all things is the best and gayest. 

For they with it have dear and loving session 
Who nothing else can call their own possession ; 
But Hope 's their power, their courage and discretion : 

And gayest wisdom, Thales, thou displayest, 
Display est by wit and heart with things to cope, 
To cope till good to better thou conveyest. 



148 



L E C T E L S 

PRESENCE AND ABSENCE 

Belike, dear friend, I am endowed to act, 
To act as much as think, that I may do, 
May do for thee, what friend-love may compact. 

For sometimes I possess thee in dear sight, 
And then I ought to cram deeds with the might 
Of all my love to love thee well and right. 

Compacted, too, is love with heart-drear fact, 
Drear fact, that thou art gone sometimes ; then true, 
Then true for love, sweet talk of thee 's not lacked. 

LOVE'S FEAR 

I love my love beloved with so great fear — 
Great fear of her, and not of her displeasure, 
Displeasure's sweets — that 'tis my joy's best cheer. 

O, sweet be sweet endearments natural, 
My arm, her hand, her voice love-musical, 
And all my ravishment of spirit mystical : 

Best cheer, natheless, is that I so revere, 
Revere, that I am frighted of my treasure, 
My treasure of soul who still 's unnamed with Dear. 



149 



L E C T E L 

OUT-DOORS 

I think I most am joyed when I go out, 
Go out with song, at forward peep of morn : 
Of morn who takes a breath but song 's about ? 

For song is sure a light-full lovely ray, 
And light is sure a song -full lovely lay ; 
Ear sees, eye hears, — that is the lover's way. 

About me hang the garlands of a rout, — 
A rout most innocent, — posies the night hath worn, 
Hath worn at her good gossips' day -dawn shout. 

UNTHINKING HEART 

A fickle lover he ? Belike 'twas she, 
'Twas she well loved, said, undismayed of love, 
Of love's susceptible health, " Love can but be." 

On stone or clay pour poison, matters not ; 
On sinking sands let ink spill, 'tis no blot ; 
I' the ears o' the winds tell holies, naught is got ; 

But be they living things, and driven out free, 
Out free and cold, fine misery doth shove, 
Doth shove and whelm, them in a mortal sea. 



150 






L E C T E L S 

LOVE'S ONE 

The heavens be full of stars, but one is mine, 
Is mine because I am too leal, too small, 
Too small and leal to note the hosts that shine. 

My heart is like a little pool i' the grass ; 
The heavens of stars look down and round me pass, 
But I hold only one beam of the mass. 

That shine the many round me I divine, 
Divine, but I reflect but thee of all, — 
Of all that bring their company to thine. 

THALASSIO 

To thy unkirtled side I ought to run, 
To run like dew from air into the grass, 
The grass that greens by it, then glows i' the sun. 

And so I come, else were I bad and shamed, 
And mad, and to my own soul all unfamed, 
And to thy countenance a thing unnamed. 

T the sun now haughty I — prouder is none, 
Is none : and afterward I turn nor pass, 
Nor pass, but stay to worship thee, my one. 



151 



L E C T E L S 

THE PATHOS OF A CROWD 

Come hither, friend, look well at that full crowd, 
Full crowd of men and women, boys and girls, 
And girls now almost wives, — bright, numerous, loud. 

Each one his interest hath, each one his grief, 
Each one his joys bound up like fruits in sheaf, 
His good and bad, and earth-life long or brief. 

Us loud ones, noisy, methinks yon sight may shroud, 
May shroud with silence, while from heart love whirls, 
Love whirls away, exclusions hard and proud. 

MYSTERIOUS HUMBLE LOVE 

My heart is very populous, a city, 
A city so dense I can not sing one tone, 
One tone, but jostles darlings with my ditty. 

It takes two hemispheres to people me, 
Ay, and two worlds : one 's here, love's pleasant lea ; 
And th' other, where my more -than -living be. 

My ditty is no foolish lay, but witty ; 
But witty with love's brooding long alone, 
Alone, where mine because mine I do pity. 



152 



L E C T E L 

SONG'S PIETY 

If I could tell once how my carols pour, 
All pour like silvery rushing torrents in, 
And in will rush and never will give o'er — 

If I could tell this, should I sing the better, 
Chant more harmoniously by a letter, 
Ride fancy's rosy wings without a fetter? 

Give o'er this inquest, this vain, absent lore, 
And lore that is impiety ; let din, 
Let din of doubts, make room for God's Sing more. 

ONE LEAL SELF 

In thee " those holy antique hours are seen," 
Are seen unornamented, self and true, 
And true, as every summer's summer -green. 

Like seasons rolling round, so is thy change, 
Ever repeating something rich and strange, 
And seasonably new in love's one range. 

Or green or red, blue, yellow, may have been, 
Have been and passed, successive banks of dew, 
Of dew changing unchanged ; so is my Queen. 



153 



L E C T E L S 

PARTIES 

Up and away, my heart, quick and away, 
Away from men ! Leave them in mire a-fast, 
And fast betake thee to calm kingly day. 

"A plague on both your houses," envy-yellow, 
Where each is but more selfish than his fellow, 
And both the same like bulls of Bashan bellow. 

I' day, bright day, I see you both at bay, 
At bay like sneaks caught cornered. O, a vast, 
A vast and Kilkenny death for both, I pray ! 

LOVE'S GIVING 

O, 'tis sad truth that " selfishness draws lovers," 
Draws lovers and holds them as a weight a boat, 
A boat that with sweet shade gross anchor covers. 

Belike here 's cause : 'Tis love's self self to give ; 
Wherefore love dearest most for them doth live 
Who be vast takers, as prerogative : 

Or covers with meek tenderness the shovers, 
The shovers and pushers in life, who clutch love's dote, 
Love's dote that ever so the tenderer hovers. 



154 






L E C T E L S 

LOVE-LETTERS 

Like garments did thy letter me array, 
Array and wrap my slumber, dear sweet love : 
Sweet love, 'twas on my heart it had its stay. 

And with it at mid-region kirtling my breast, 
I slept the gentlest, tenderest, dream-fullest rest, 
So dream-full 'twas sleeping and waking at once and best. 

Its stay was where I breathed it like the day, 
The day of air ; and all as soft above, 
Above my sleep, as light as air it lay. 

MUSICAL NATURE 

Music, O, music pelts me from the skies, 
The skies that so transfix me with their shafts, 
Their shafts of song on song that wake my cries. 

And wherefore not ? Why not these heavenly favors, 
These rhymes celestial, of such honey -flavors 
That every last most of Castalia savors ! 

My cries acclaim the reeling rain that flies, 
That flies and rolls at once, pouring by wafts, 
By wafts whose every drop my song out-vies. 



155 



L E C T E L S 

JOY'S SONG 

Whate'er will give me song I welcome dear : 
Come dear the more, meihinks, my lovely joys — 
T joys 'tis most I sing with note most clear. 

O, I can lift the martial note of pains — 
I trust I can — the trumpet-tonic strains 
That bid defiance to whate'er complains ; 

Most clear, howe'er, to humble soul sincere, 
Sincere in love, is love -song's sweeter noise, 
A noise of praise for gladdest thing that 's here. 

LOVE'S TIME 

I see thee, friend; come hither! Talk, I pray — 
I pray, because it is so sweet to speak, 
To speak full sweetly, at this noon o' day. 

Nay, what? This noon? Do mid-day belfries chime 
Some sweet o' holiday culled out o' time, 
And young-old hearts salute with lusty rhyme ? 

O' day all day befits a roundelay, 
A lay of love ! Sing at night seasons eke, 
And eke in drowsy dreams love -parley say. 



156 



L E C T E L S 

CONJUGATION 

Prythee, loved lovely lover, echo me. 
O me ! I will intone thee so sweet song, 
Sweet song o' heart, constrained thou wilt be. 

Then will I echo thy dear echo, love, 
Till ail the air around us and above 
Voice as the mourning of a mated dove. 

'Twill be that to dear echoes of me and thee, 
And thee and me, love-unisons belong, 
Belong like light to a brook, birds to a tree. 

COMMON BLESSINGS 

A breeze patted my brow, — I smiled amain, 
Amain, as it were music, yea, or love, 
Or love's requital, or new -banned old pain. 

For O, the heavenly virtues of the hours, 
And O, their plentiful beauty of blithe powers, 
And O, th' etherial joy -descending showers ! 

Old pain new-banned, bright sooth, it is a gain, 
A gain full many a beamy mirth above ; 
Above not, natheless, th' joy -hills' common rain. 



157 



TERZA RIMA 



T E R Z A R I M A 



LOVE'S FELLOWSHIP 

O, in the measures of my faring ways, 
That mete the bulk of my sweet fortunate hours 
Or rim the contents of dejected days, 

In either or in both thou art my powers, 
My joy in joy, my sturdy mind in sorrows, 
In peace my fruitful field, in war my towers. 

Therefore my love to thee all glory borrows, 
Maketh all plaint sweet Mirth's dear convertite, 
And sunneth nights with gold-forelooking morrows. 

Thou 'rt equal rich, dear love, for dark or bright. 



MANY TOGETHER 

If woful haps, quoth he, e'er on me thrown, 
Were millioned more on my thrice aged head, 
Should I not be with awe and wonder known } 

If all the loves wherewith my heart hath bled 
Were multiplied in me a thousand times, 
With all my living loves, and all my dead : 



161 



T E R Z A R I M A 

If all my joy -bells and my merry chimes, 
Were more as for a thousand, each as loud, — 
Were we not quelled, we and these little rhymes ? 

Then led he me to look upon a crowd. 

DISTANCE 

When th* moon is slender, faint, young and new, 
It hangs close by the lovely evening star, 
As if it said, Lo, us together view ? 

But when it sees sweet Hesper from afar, 
Then doth the moon enlarge in form and light, 
Until at last at full its virtues are. 

So must I, spirit beautiful, have sight 
Of thy dear glories not too near to thee, 
Lest I be proud and vain, with little right : 

Th' wide heavens between enlarge and humble me. 

LOVE AND TO-DAY 

When at the windows of the early morn 
I place me to look out upon the day, 
With the new light my spirit is new born. 



162 



T E R Z A R I M A 

Where 's yester gone, how spent and whither away ! 
I can not call again the darling time, 
Nor stay the faring of its toil or play. 

Full many a merry antic, canty mime 
Did I make good amid the fleeting hours, 
And quip the dance with many a frolic rhyme. 

And many an honorable push of powers 
Did I put forth the while the minutes waned, 
Not idling beggarly on wayside flowers. 

The play was much, the toil was more — I gained 

The swift distinctions of the wheeling sky : 

But now all 's gone and all my deeds disdained. 

And yet, in very truth, my spirit high 

Hath now new birth in raptures of old bliss ; 

A dear voice saith, " What 's gone ! Lo, here am I S *' 

Where yester, or all yesters ? In this kiss. 

A BIRD AT EVENING 

I would I knew both where and what you are, 

distant-calling bird of plaintive note : 

1 am right sad you will be shy and far. 



163 



T E R Z A R I M A 

Would it be good if creatures all could dote 
On one another's beauty and delight, 
And no one ever ravaged, rent or smote ? 

Happy were it if fearless you would 'light 
Upon my hand, you whose complaint I heard, 
And let me touch your plumage sombre or bright ? 

I know not ; but I grieve for it, dear bird. 

OFFERING 

I have but this to offer, that I love thee ! 
But to adore thee doth a virtue know 
That with and like thee looks to heaven above thee. 

I wonder whether thy sweet bloom doth go 
Further for merit than my passionate daring 
That doth belove it and adore it so : 

I wonder whether thy celestial fairing, 

The kindly smiling of thy love -like face, 

And thy like fall of voice, soft, rain-like, airing — 

I wonder whether these things have a grace 
To qualify my love with so great power 
As almost near thee lifteth me apace. 



164 



T E R Z A R I M A 

I am not great ; nay, troth, but every hour 

Shows lack familiar more familiar grown, 

And merit, like blushes, more fading than a flower. 

Not praise but want of it doth seat me lone 
'Mid wonderment ; not wit, nor rich proud rate, 
Nor nimble humor, can I call my own : 

No, none of these things, nor the tribute great 
Levied by wranglers from the gross proud world 
By opulent wisdom, — not such my estate : 

Nor even common worth — I am bechurled 

With tempers rude. See me not ! Look above thee, 

Where skies with thine own kin of lights be pearled. 

But this of heaven have I, that I do love thee. 

SONG'S FREEDOM 

I can not tell with what a joy I sing ! 
But, quotha, Song continueth me poor ? 
Yea, but what 's poverty with heart a-spring ? 

But, quotha, it hath pent me up obscure — 
Men pass me ? Yea, but not more than I boast 
That I pass too. The sun's eye is my cure. 



16: 



T E R Z A R I M A 

But, quotha, it hath drowned me on lone coast, 
Or stabbed me to a phantom in a crowd ? 
Yea, but I am a very seeing ghost. 

But, quotha, many berate me long and loud, 

And mar my music ? Yea, poor things ! Bad ears — 

Clogged with a vogue. Some hear. They keep me proud. 

But, quotha, — Nay, I prythee, drop thy drears : 
What misseth mark it is not well to fling, 
Nor quarrel with what gaily perseveres : 

I can not tell thee with what joy I sing. 

ONE STEADFASTNESS 

Am I the same one waked who fell asleep? 
Oh no ! But who can name the alteration, 
What 's come, what 's gone, and if to smile or weep ? 

Have the still hours wrought for my purgation, 
For lovelier fancy and for better reason, 
My spiritual eye's illumination ? 

Or have the stars prevailed not on the season, 

But left sweet dusky night's deceitful-fair, 

That by my dreams hath played me unknown treason? 



166 



T E R Z A R I M A 

But these incertitudes one sweetness spare ; 
Worse in worse ways I may be, yet doth last 
This that prevails o'er night like morning air : 

When slumberous doubts molest, night clouds o'ercast, 
Fears wakeful drive me this way, that way shove, 
I think of thee ; then one thing holdeth fast : 

Most sure it is last night I grew in love. 

JOYFULNESS 

I feel f the singing mood, or in the mood 

Of freaks o' singing ; 

The day -shine brings song-comrades in a brood : 

I hear the bits o' singing, or the singing 

Of bits o' birds, 

And heart o' me unto the tones is springing : 

Sing on ye little birds, ye songs o' birds 

That chant divinely, 

And would that I could equal you in words : 

I hearken you divinely, while divinely 

The more ye trill 

And toss your matins off sprucely and finely: 



167 



T E R Z A R I M A 



Ye are the very trill, the tree-made trill 

Of mystical air, 

That through your little buds o' throats blows shrill : 

And with the bonny air, the tunes of air, 

Rustles the dew, 

Where golden breezes fluff the foliage fair : 

And with the rustling dew, the murmurous dew, 

Chanting lights rise, 

Joining the dripping chords of green and blue : 

So mornings o'er me rise, and in me rise. 



ONENESS 

Love sat upon a rose-tree sipping roses ; 
I caught him in that wild and wanton plight, 
Sitting and sipping, ruddier than the posies. 

By all the things that sing and all a-light, 
Whose is that silver-wings among the flowers ? 
I swear he 's none o' mine ! Is thine the wight ? 

Love is not mine nor thine, quoth she, — but ours. 



168 



T E R Z A R I M A 

A PORTRAIT 

M. L. H. 

If pictures can be like an organ-tone, 
This should be one — like to a music seen, 
Whose countenance is royal and alone. 

Tis right that this most gracious regal mien 
Seem organ-choirs for ear, portrait for eye, 
As if harmonious notes shone round a queen. 

Sure she should look like what she doth supply 
To Holy Church, the organ that she gives, 
Whose voiced concord natives with the sky. 

Who music builds, like music looks and lives. 



NATIVE TO BEAUTY 

M. M. L. 

When Spring Aprils the land with song, I find 
Thee fresh as bird, blossom, and brook's new rune, 
Fit friend for all these fair in thy fair mind. 

When Summer comes with all the sweets of June 
O'ermantling April who wild March o'ersways, 
With richer tones and robes thou art in tune. 



169 



T E R Z A R I M A 

And when September hangs her yellow haze 
On yellow fields, thou still art native born ; 
And thou a home-heart, too, for wintry days. 

Thou matest all seasons, and noon, night and morn. 
THE DEAR PRESENT 

B. T. L. 

Ah, dear, in a sweet love -truth I discern 
Two lovely values. Now which is the more, 
First learned of thee, my rhyme shall make thee learn 

Blessed it is when memories sweet hang o'er, 

Like the fair rondure of a starry sky 

That, though we stray, still heavens our native shore. 

But greater blessing 'tis when in the eye 
O' the present hour a richer grace is seen 
Than all the past of memories hath come by. 

So twice by thee, now most, I blest have been. 

VALOR IN PEACE 
O, come ye, come ye to the front of peace ! 
There is the " tug of war " commensurate 
With men, and room for men, and heart's increase. 



170 



T E R Z A R I M A 

To fight in fiery ranks d' ye think is state ? 
How many quaking cowards have done so, 
Pushed from the rearward, or by greed or hate ! 

D' ye think to flash a ball 's the bravest blow, 
Or standing to stop it is most right proud deed ? 
I tell you, with a thousand echoes, no ! 

Why, pirates will do this with merry speed, 
The " land rats and the water rats " as much, 
And things with tails and claws and fangs at need. 

Who can, and dares, the heart, not body, touch, 
Who meanness pins to see its own mean face, 
Who unbusks golden villainy, saying 'tis such, — 

These be proved valiants of the antique place 
Where grim and real life-and-death grapples vie, 
These be the blows whose wind hath wreckful grace !- 

And to pelt and riddle with scorns a flushing lie, 

And smite a gossip slander on the cheek, 

And throttle twain wrangling greeds till both shall die ! 

These be the Lord's confoundments, where his weak 
He makes confound the mighty at a brunt, 
And chooseth for inheritors the meek. 
Come ye for peace to its stern manly front ! 



171 



T E R Z A R I M A 

EIGHTEEN 

H. F. C. 

Her sister-souls and brother-spirits all, 
Born on her day twice-nine star-zones ago, 
What myst'ries have befallen or befall ! 

How many have fled this " shoal of time " below- 
Bidden to unseen regions forth to fare, 
And leave the earth ere it could wonted grow ? 

How many hardly breathed the summer air, 
Yea, very hardly; then their infant eyes 
Shut on the life they had not life to bear ? 

How many have met sorrow, pain, surprise 
Of fateful knowledge, and what bevied gay 
Not yet have learned what shadow underlies } 

How many robe the honorable Day 

With the high office of an ermined Right ? 

What sad ones have gone wrong, and waste away? 

How many fated be to blaze in light 

Of public fame ? What others (th* dearest dear) 

Will glow at home, domestically bright ? 

But mid all these far-marveled myst'ries, clear 
Shine present joys and lovely memories 
That touch our souls more tenderly and near : 



172 



T E R Z A R I M A 



Our dear felicity and treasure 'tis, 
O'er the fragilities and dreads of time, 
That now we have our Helen as she is ! 

Here sing I, but my soul hath caught a chime 
More leal and native to a loving ear 
Than all my rhythmic syllables of rhyme. 

For now the birds with gayer plumage veer, 
And warble glees with joy -inflated throat, — 
The sweet duet of pipe and wing I hear. 

And now the winds, fellow with wings that float 
And with the eerie pipes, intone themselves, 
And from a trumpet-cave blow tuneful note. 

And now the trees, where the deep hollow delves, 
And booms with wings and winds, are pattering heard, 
Where leaves drip dew-songs from their little shelves. 

And now the tree and cave and breeze and bird 
Discourse with babbling waters in bright hours, 
And with the cressed wood-brook have conferred. 

And now, with breeze, bird, brook, cave, tree, the flowers 
Clang out their steepled bells, and gaily ring 
To the green earth that seats their little towers. 



173 



T E R Z A R I M A 



All these sweet things sweetly concerted sing 

Her natal grace, and I with them, for joy 

That eighteen-fold new grace this day doth bring. 

Sing, heart ! sing, soul ! sing, maiden, and sing, boy ! 

For all her sister and her brother souls 

Born on her day, true thoughts true prayers employ: 

But Helen 's our own ! For her our love -lay rolls. 



WONTED LIKE TIME 
1 
Who doth not love the morning when it rings 
With the first matins of all flowers and birds ? 
Now she is like what 'tis so sweetly sings. 

Who loves not noon, when all the flocks and herds 
Contented be, in sweet and murmurous rest ? 
Now she is like that stillness done in words. 

Who doth not evening love, and night confest, 
That darker growing doth the farther shine ? 
Now she is like that widened beauty blest. 

As natively as Time thus is she mine. 



174 



T E R Z A R I M A 

2 

There is no delicacy of sweet dawn, 
Nor later sun-up with its crimson air, 
But she doth flush with, like an April lawn. 

There is no noon so rich, golden and fair, 

Meridian and splendid in the sky, 

But she, of the self kind, with it doth pair. 

There is no evening breath so soft a sigh, 
Nor night so regal with its diadems, 
But she is like them to both ear and eye. 

So is she mine like these, Time's fiery gems. 

3 

Be sure Aurora with her jewels on 
Is like my lovely love at first of day, 
Who rich is drest, yet but herself doth don. 

When noon goes to his throne in his array, 
With cloak and train of cloth of antique gold, 
'Tis like my love's rich uninvented way. 

When night, by herald eve, her court doth hold, 

And calls the retinues of moon and star, 

'Tis like her, whose grace less and less is told. 

Thus mine, as Time is, my love's beauties are. 



175 



T E R Z A R I M A 

4 

My love's all one with all day's seasons three : 
The morn more green by dew, by green more dewed, 
Looks not more young or lightsomely than she. 

When the mid-noon all golden I have viewed, 
I see 'tis like her ; her sweet youth unending 
Doth not rich wealths of golden years preclude. 

When evening comes, and night the eve attending, 

Twilight and starry dark are like her too 

Whose age means light of her unspent aye spending. 

Time-sweet she is with all that Time can do. 

5 

My love's heart hath a song so constantly 
That she is like the morning with its choirs 
Filling the tops, chanting exultingly. 

But eke she is so still with heart's desires, 
She 's like the tender hush of shadowed wood 
When blazing noon will not abate his fires. 

And eke she hath so much more shining stood 
For shadows, she is like night's starry sphere, — 
My love who is so lovely and so good. 

like triple Time she 's three -times mine and dear. 



176 



T E R Z A R I M A 

6 

Ay, Time is triple, like the common chord, 
And makes the day a motion musical : 
My love' 's the treble o' morning, over -scored. 

But eke she is the noon imperial, 

That sounds his way with central fiery note, 

And calls his golden glorious carnival. 

Night hath the deeper tone whereon they float, 
Th' harmonious lights of morns and noons and eves : 
She 's like the voice of midnight's starry throat. 

My kind love, thrice like Time, sweet concords weaves. 

7 

On land or sea is the sweet morn the rarer, 
Where the woods wave or where the billows shine ? 
My love is like them both, though one be fairer. 

Is land-noon richer, or noon on the brine, — 

Where the herds drowse, or where the waters sleep ? 

My love 's like both, and pours each golden wine. 

Eke eve and night — doth mead or ocean keep 
Twilight and stars richest and best and most ? 
My love 's like both, mead-stilly and sea-deep. 

Like Time by land or main, her heart 's my host. 



177 



T E R Z A R I M A 

8 

Methinks the morning most is dewy, yielding : 
So is my fair and dear, my dear and fair, 
Like softest beams and winds that meet a-fielding. 

Methinks the noon is an all-golden air, 
Royal and wealthy, high and great and stern : 
My love 's like this, who all for love can dare. 

Methinks the night is like a sable urn 
Outpouring streams of sparkles from its lip : 
My love is so, and with like tide doth burn. 

Being Time -like so, she can not fail nor slip. 

9 

When Time beguiles the eye with morning sweets, 
He maketh beauty like unto my love, 
And she resembles all his pied-light feats. 

When with pure gold he buildeth noon above, 
And hangs his castle on a ridge of air, 
'Fore her he doth a gold resemblance shove. 

And when he giveth night more wealth to wear, 
And piles with suns the dear blue dome sublime, 
'Tis not too rich a semblance for my fair. 

To love her doth as native me as Time. 



178 



T E R Z A R I M A 

10 

Methinks when Time had framed the morning dear, 
Now will I make, said he, a dearer maid, 
To be like me and like the day-spring sheer. 

When of pure gold noon's masonry he laid, 

He looked again upon his lovely scion, 

And that she should be like gold noon he bade. 

And when night's arch he made new lights to ply on, 
And spread in stars the compact shining day, 
He said, Her new resemblance now ye spy on. 

So being Time's own, she is love's own alway. 
11 
A vapor rises fiery -pied with morning — 
So coast and ocean in the dawn commingle : 
Her love is like that mutual adorning. 

And then above and down into a dingle 

Of watery bowers noon's straight gold is shot : 

Her love is like that gold, all one and single. 

Then o'er the night is streamed a milky plot, 
A river' d light, stars trillioned for one glow : 
She is like this by thoughts turned love, I wot. 

Time 's my estate, and eke her love is so. 



179 



T E R Z A R I M A 

12 

If the soft morning spread a " region cloud " 
And all the air be dripping, 'tis like thee : 
Thou canst be tearful, like a grief allowed. 

If at meridian, whilom gold and proud, 
The vapory gray is deep, 'tis like thy soul, 
That oftentimes withdraws where none may see. 

And if by night the high, most constant pole 
Showers his rainy jewels, sweet with plaint 
As scattered so, like thee is their dear dole. 

As griefs hallowed o* Time, thou *rt heart-acquaint. 

13 

Let verse, too venturous, no more pretend : 
Her sweet resemblances to morning sweets 
Too many are ; my song can see no end. 

Eke the dear semblance all my rhymes defeats 
Which she doth own unto the golden noon, 
Those herbage-odorous, sweets-distilling heats. 

And how she *s like the night whose wide lagoon 
Reflects the shining spots of love on earth, 
I can not tell — my song hath no such boon : 

Yet O, her love 's like Time and all Time's worth. 



180 



T E R Z A R I M A 



RAPTURES 

Methinks all natural things are ecstacies : 
Or if forerun of pain, yet bliss at last, 
And lavish of their golden treasuries. 

Hence equal, living or dying, is reason cast 
Among the sweets that make a fate a choice, 
And we are quiet, howso things go fast. 

Attend ! With what a sweetness every voice 

Singeth the swift days of his present state, 

And still while journey speeds doth much rejoice. 

Mere breath is jocund at no common rate, 
And life 's true sport, — the sun-fish love to leap, 
And insect choirs the terse night elate. 

Hence death, meseems, must be a sport more deep, 
The pearliest plunge reserved for the ending, 
Whose lights their glories for that diver keep. 

What a profuse estate may wait for spending 

On the new heir its heaping treasuries, 

And dying's self be like bright billows blending ! 

For still, methinks, Nature is ecstacies. 



181 



SONGS AND ODES 



SONGS AND ODES 



SONG 

I crave, here and away from thee, 

Dear one, dear one, 

A song to carry back with me, 

Dear one ! 

A song to cover in my soul, 

Dear one, dear one, 
Till unto thee the lay I troll, 
Dear one ! 

For as I brought thee here, in heart, 
And singing in my heart along, 
*Tis meet, and only love's right part, 
To bring thee back a new love-song. 

I mark, here and away from thee, 

Dear one, dear one, 
The breeze and light awake a tree, 
Dear one ! — 

Not brighter than thou in my soul, 

Dear one, dear one, 
Nor dearer than my love-lays roll, 
Dear one ! 



184 



SONGS AND ODES 

DEAR DREAMS 

Dearest, I pray thee 
Let me sit with thee in thy dreams, 
That, Dearest, I may thee 
Have and hold alone, 
All for my own. 
O, that is sweeter, dearer far, meseems, 
Than to be circled in thy waking vision 

And imaged in thy open eyes. 
For the world assembles in thy love elysian, 
And thy kind orbs like stars in skies 
Look down on all, 
And thy smiles fall 
On many a favored other ; 
While I — ah me ! — thy very eyes would smother 
Into my heart, 
Unshared, apart, 
To have and hold alone, 
All for my own ! 
Yet would I ? If thy sight 
Withdrawn from me were such a night, 
Would I shut others from that light ? 
Ah no ! Smile on and bless 

The world ; but pray thee, dress 



185 



SONGS AND ODES 



Only me in garments of thy dreams, 
Me only circle in those precious beams, 
And in thine innocent visions to thy breast 

Hold me, only me, 

At rest in rest 

Only with thee ; 
On me alone look with thy sleeping eyes, 
And rock me where thy bosom lies 

In slumber — only me ! 
Repose thee, dear ; but ere thou sleep, 

My soul with thee to keep, 
Look on me, set me in thy spiritual sight, 

While I do pray, Good-night. 



A PARTING 

R—h. 

My lovely one, my own, my girl, 

How long, how wild, how dear, how sweet 

Our memory ! 
Around me it doth wind and curl, 
Like tendrils made of light and heat, 

Embracingly. 



186 



SONGS AND ODES 

What fond inventions, darling girl, 
Thy sister, friends, and thou and I, 

So jocundly, 
Have made around us dance and whirl ! 
Ah me ! they cost a tear, a sigh, 

Memorially. 

But now, mine own, my love, my girl, 
I must not long to hold thee here 

Too wilfully : 
One voyage ends, the sail I furl, 
But loose another to the clear, 

Confidingly. 

E'en though — and it may be, my girl — 
Toil fall on thee, or care or woe, 

Too heavily, 
I can not hold thee, can not hurl 
Such things away, must let thee go 

Enforcedly. 

But by the gleeful past, my girl, 
We must of looming futures sing 

Full blessedly : 
By past of love as pure as pearl, 
Forever we unparted cling 

Belovedly. 



187 



SONGS AND ODES 

One of sweet twain, heart-dwelling girl, 
To bid thee go is loving will, 

But prayingly : 
And Time may come, may go, may twirl 
My little deeds, I shall pray still 

Abidingly. 

THREE 

H.L.: M.P.L.: K. L. 

O ! dear and lovely three, 

Here well beloved were ye : 

Neighbors and all who met ye 

In kind affection set ye : 
Beauty and grace in ye all hearts did please ; 
But yet God's love hath far exceeded these. 

Then came your nearer friends, 

Whose love met yours ; no ends 

Of present love did Fate 

In their hearts contemplate, 
Ye made within their hearts so sweet an ease ; 
But yet God's love hath far exceeded these. 

But O ! in mother's heart, 
In father's, O ! what part 
Did not your sweetness hold 
That never could grow old, 

188 



SONGS AND ODES 

And never from bereaved spirit flees ! 
And yet God's love hath far exceeded these, 
Even these. 

Their lives He hath not slain, 

Their dear lives He hath ta'en 

Too far for our fond eyes, 

Into His own, own skies. 
Here be our loves, suns, stars, birds, fields and trees 
But God's sweet gifts to them exceed all these, 

Even these ! 

MY CHILD 
The little feet 

Came flying to me down the skies, 
Down the round stairway of the skies, 
The dear, dear feet. 

With what surprise 
To him, to me, he trod the air, 
The steps made only out of air, — 
What sweet surprise ! 

And O, how fair ! 
With what a tenderness of grace, 
What tender helplessness of grace, 
The child was fair ! 



189 



SONGS AND ODES 

He stayed a space, 

And filled with light my small-house room, 

With light celestial all my room, 

A little space. 

Then a dear doom 

Bade him bethink him whence he came ; 
So bright the white gates whence he came 
'Twas no hard doom. 

He felt a flame 

Fill all the sky and blind the sun — 
Beams of the home beyond the sun 
Around him flame. 

Now hath he run 

Back up the stairway and the height, — 
So late ran down he knew the height, 
How up to run ; 

But left his light ! 

O, left the light, to wane no more ; 
And from my house, to wane no more, 
Spreadeth the light — 

It drowns my shore, 
The sea and shore. 



190 



SONGS AND ODES 

GOOD-NIGHT 

My dearest dearest, 

My own nearest, 

I do confess me 
Sad with longing for thee, 

And thou dost bless me 
With sweet pain spread o'er me, 

With love's tender sorrow, 

Pure and patient sorrow, 
Which is looking ever for a morrow 
That will not rise. 

O, now turn unto me, 

Thou dear, thou blessed, to me 
Thine eyes, thine eyes, 
That while they beam above my night 

With all their sacred light, 
I may forget they are so far away, 

And only think, so soft and bright 
Their sweetness cometh to my sight, 

That 'tis love's dawn of day. 
And yet I have a better prayer to say, 

While now in thought I lay 
My head one moment close to thine 

On thy dear pillow ; thus I pray — 

191 



SONGS AND ODES 

That by my love it may be mine 
To live my dark of parting, dear, 
So holily that this dim sphere 
May be to me a noon, so clear 
Pervading it my own heart's light 
Caught from my soul's perpetual sight 
Of thee. Dearest, good-night. 

SONG 
When morning awakes, opening soft gray eyes, 
And throws his " russet mantle " o'er the day, 
And leadeth her forth, showing a gentle way 
Wherein with sweet advantage she may rise, — 

No whit to be less, emulous in that kind 
Of that most gallant mom, I softly stir, 
Which waking my love, tenderly over her 
I hang the matin colors of my mind. 

LOVE'S REVERENCE 
I looked upon her in that place, 

That company, 
And saw the lights break in her face, — 

The witchery 
That shooteth of her sweetness and her grace 

And honesty. 



192 



SONGS AND ODES 



Her presence was sincerity 

And quietness, 
Then flaming with her sympathy 

And lovingness ; 
And smiles like meteors traverse heavenly 

With suddenness. 

Anon sprang such a rain of fires 

So beauteous, 
In flashes, leaps and jets and spires 

So plenteous, 
Methought them even audible — bright choirs 

Harmonious. 

I said, Lo ! eyes, blessed are ye 

With seeing her : 
I said, O ears, most blest ye be 

With hearing her : 
I cried, O heart o' me, enheavened in me 

With knowing her ! 

Then on me fell a sudden awe 

Religiously, 
That I my arm around her draw 

Familiarly, 
Love her, and dare all things by wedded law 

Reveringly. 



193 



SONGS AND ODES 



LOVE'S FAME 

Fame, merrily blow your horn, 

And merrily blow your horn, great Fame, at will 

You can not me adorn — 

My ambition is too sweet, 

And my fancy runs too fleet 

For all your brassy trumpetings to fill. 

The fame endeared to me 

Might be sung by a bird 

High a -top of any tree, 
If he listened at my heart till he heard ; 

Or caroled by a brook 

Where the most it doth rejoice, 

From my heart if it took 
Its rainy voice ; 

Or chanted by the roar 

Of the billows on the shore, 

If they caught my heart's tone 
For their own. 

O, I long not for the bays 

Of the singer and the song, 

And I care not for the praise 

Of the people where they throng ; 



194 



SONGS AND ODES 



But in all the sweet days, 

The slow days, the dear days 

Of my love and my love and my love, 

All preferments overtopping, 

And the stations high above, 

All the honors that be dropping, 

All the dreams, all the gleams, 

All that goldenest meseems 

In the prized decorations 

Of the world- 
No more are they vexations : 

They are furled 
Unto rest, 

Unto free, deep rest, 
In the holy hiding of her breast. 

No other fame can bliss, 

Nor a name reward strife, 
Nor honors the world can discover, 

Though they heap them on my life, 

As that she looked and said me this 
" No lover is like to my lover." 



195 



SONGS AND ODES 



LOVE'S WISHES 

My heart is pure and single 

Unto thee ; wherefore commingle 
All things with thoughts of thee in love's ambitions. 

If breezes in melodious transitions 
Travel the tree tops, thence down to my brow 
Fly with two cool wings, of vapory sky and leafy bough, 
I quicken with wishing it were my estate 
Thy forehead and spirit so to animate. 
If on me fall a summer shining shower, 
To cool the fever of a laboring hour, 
I long to kiss with such refreshing dew 
The wrist of thy brave hand. Or if I view 

A bird launching on wing 

Across the breezes, caroling, 
To thee, dear love, such freedom would I bring, 
Even if thou forgot me. When the sun peepeth, and I awake 
As did thy whisper at mine eyelids break 
Slumber's thin shell (for any wall is thin 
That sunders us and prisons me in 
From thee), and soon the east is red and bright 
With willingness of the unenvious night, 
Then all my spirit breaketh into light 



196 



SONGS AND ODES 



With the flash of my wish to pour such rays 
Round thee, Heart's-dearest, all the long dear days. 
Hearing a river murmur to its reeds, 
And learning with a loving ear its low 
And fond rehearsal of the rustle of the snow 

That from the hill-tops feeds 

The lowland channels ; or if a brook, 

Its terrene tunnels that forsook 
Long since, to ferns and pebbles in a nook 
Singeth its madrigal, and music brings 
Repeated from its unforgotten springs, 

And I be nigh to hear, — 
Straightway I wish that in thine ear 

I could sing so, 
Repeating unto thee the gay or slow 
True, endless music from the springs of me. 

Or I the amber heavens see, 

And now the eve 

Blissful doth weave 

Paniers of peace, which she doth braid 

From filaments of shade 

Like osiers, growing in the west, 
And brings the " neat inclosures" heaped with rest, 



197 



SONGS AND ODES 

Straightway I wish to be 

Such a purveyor unto thee, 
Of quiet, bid thee sleep, and still thy heart, 
And in thy slumber have a part 

By thy dear dreams. 
Or if by day, relinquishing the charms 
Of winds and meads and streams 
And all the out-door beams, 

Or if by night, 

With lamp alight 

That doth illume 

My lone room's gloom 
Like a little sun, chasing alarms, 

I sit among my books, 
O, then I read my best page in thy looks, 
And have sore wish that I may be 
Such might and recompense to thee 

As these great souls to me, 

Whose glow of wisdom rare 

Makes heavens o' their fames. 
O love, my heart is pure and single 
Unto thy love ; wherefore all things commingle 
With thoughts of thee, as the altar -flames 

With trT skies and air. 



198 



SONGS AND ODES 



IN A SNOW-FALL 
Ay, come from heaven, white little songs, 
And white upon my head fall lightsomely : 
There melt to dew, then trickle to heart o' me, 
New place where each of you belongs. 

There shall ye crystallize again, 
And from my heart come white, I promise ye, 
As from the skies ye erst fell heavenly, 
And from me fall once more on men. 

A DAY ON THE SHORE 
My language is foreign — I halt therein ; 

'Tis conned and learnt, 

And hath no wont 
Of a syllabication of my soul, 
Nor prosody of numbers to enroll 
These airs I breathe when from the direful din 
I steal into this solitude away, 
And body and eke my soul I under lay 
A shrubby tree close to the sandy shore, 
And on the Lake look out and o'er. 
There weave the waters, the mighty Michigan, 

Ladled in the silver pan 

O' the bright continent's span, — 
Rippling, rolling, swelling, stilling evermore. 



199 



SONGS AND ODES 

Translate me now to syllables that sea 

So glorious and blue, 

So dreadful and so blue, 

So darling and so blue ; 
My speech is foreign, no idiom can I use : 
Translate it me, and not an inch confuse 
O' yon miles of glory overwhelming me 
That dumbly I worship Him whose the blue waters be. 

There stands the sun in his estate 

On his high knoll 

Round which clouds roll, 

Despatching precipitate 

His emisaries bright, 

That with a scream of light 

Plunge into the waters. 

It seemeth like a drowning 

Of Apollo's daughters 

In that blue-wrinkled frowning 
O* the sea, save that when the element is still, 
The children of light come up and swim on it at will. 

Translate me, ye who talk, the flaming reach 

O' the sun from heaven ; come, the grammar teach ; 

My tongue is foreign, knowing not the speech. 



200 



SONGS AND ODES 

Now is the evening falling, 

Night-creatures 'gin their calling ; 

And we have built a fire 

Of drift-wood and dry brier 
Along the margin. Aloft the mottled flame 
Tresses the gold complexion of the coals 
Glowing in a round heap ; and there where rolls 
That whilom blue, now blue-gray, in its frame 
Of creamy sand, 'tis marvel to behold 
Those pied cinereous waves across the fire-red gold 
With eyes made ruddy first. Sweet contrast, tender chord ! 

Translate me now that beauty that is poured 
Into mine eye, do it in like words 
Able to carry the virtue ; sing 't all, as birds 
O' the night sing their part in it, I beseech ; 
I can not, I am foreign to the speech. 

Around the fire convene a manly friend 
And three o' my girls and a little child : 
Soft converse, a sweet murmur without end, 
Plays with the ripples, and variously mild 
Sweet eyes of each look love to others, and faces 
Twice blushed, with love and with the love -like glow, 
Mid the skies', waters', fire's thrice -mystic spaces 
Peer from their hoods of shadows in a bended row. 



201 



SONGS AND ODES 

Translate, O ye who can, 
And do into the words of man, 

These heavenly glories, 

And make me stories 

Of them, water and skies 

Sunny, and loving eyes, 

Night things in choir, 

And beach-built fire : 
And since my language foreign is, 
Let some one tell me what is his, 

And if he hath a dialect 

As wealthy, wilful, uncorrect 

As Heaven. Or was it never ? 

Or when, if any ever 7 
Yet I would yield my life to hear 
That day divine once syllabled in ear. 

BEAUTIFUL OLD-TIME GRACE 

M.L. P. (Obi it) 

If golden courtesies do here 

Spread so soft heat 

Of looks that bless, thoughts that endear, 

Things that are sweet, 

Methinks more fair 

They will be in the light that *s over there : 



202 



SONGS AND ODES 

For here but as detached rays 

Of that sweet light 

They seem to be, or like the days, 

Having a night, 

Wherein each star 

Seems broken from the sun that 's hid afar. 

But there they sort so with their kin 

As light with light 

Commingle doth, or souls grow twin, — 

Things bright more bright, 

More richly made, 

By their reflections on each other laid. 

As all things in their native home 

More sweet do seem 

To every sense, but if they roam, 

Drop their best beam, 

So look her graces 

Translated back unto their heavenly places. 

A QUARTER-CENTURY 

H. and S. B. 

Now I will sing a song of three, 
And eke a song of two, — 
A wedded twain the two ; 



203 



SONGS AND ODES 

Their triple love my theme shall be, 
That runneth in the rhyme of three. 

The first is this, that they did love, 
As, faith, they ought to do, 
As bonny lovers do, 
And filled a crystal youth above 
The brim with this, that they did love. 

The next is this, that love they now — 

By noon and night renew, 

By east and west renew 
The sacred and effectual vow 
Engendering this, that love they now. 

The last is this, that love they will, 

As to each heart is due, 

And to the years is due, 
And Joy will joy their life to fill, 
Because, as first, so love they will. 

Now, blessing on the twain I sing, 
And on their three loves too, 
Past, present, endless too : 
The three to twain long heart Vease bring, 
And sweeter than I know to sing. 



204 



SONGS AND ODES 

A LETTER FROM 

Dear Friend, 
I have this to send : 
That it seemeth much to be, 
Ay, and it meaneth much to me, 
That you remembered me so dearly kindly 
On the bright morning of thy festival, 
And in the early height 
Of that " dear Sunday's " light 
Wrote me thine epistle featly and mindly. 
'Tis oft grotesque or tragical 
How persons pale by circumstance, 
And weighty love seems hung on hairs of chance,- 
As, say, some stress of occupation, 
Interest, pains, or meditation : 
When these come in, dear persons are forgot, 
And the brow puckers a frowning knot 
From which sweet recollections flee 
For that too sad-engrossed hour. 

But 'tis not so with thee, 
Nor have these tyrannies the power 
To drive thy friend-loves from thy mind ; 
The which I, heart-delighted, find 
By thine epistle writ to me 
Even in the very ecstasy 



205 



SONGS AND ODES 

Of thy dear mom of dedicating, 

Glorifying and consecrating 
Thy lovely chapel. And I, for my part, 
Equal the faithfulness of thy heart ; 
For that same hour my spirit lighter flew 
Than morning's russet sandals o'er the dew, 
Or th' vaporous and sky -ascending birds, 
To the pure precincts of the psalm and hymn, 
And joyed in thy joy, ay, sooth, with heart a-brim, 
Dispatching thee good wishes, " songs without words ;" 

And that day well I ween 

Gladly I would have been 
Where my thoughts were, that were with you 

By fond petitionary spirit true. 
As a sweet being, tuneful and mild, 

Torn from his natural wild, 
Issues in song that hath a tone, 
A plaintive, half -unwilling moan, 
Of sore heartsickness for his native place, 
So flew my soul to thee apace ; 

For a true friend's nativity 
Is where the other one may chance to be. 

I have not been a-riding on my wheel 
These out-door days of late. 
Alas, 'tis sad estate 



206 



SONGS AND ODES 

When a sad man is sad enough to steal. 

Some such sad fellow hath stolen my trundle, and left me 

With grievous loss that truly hath bereft me 

Of much hilarious outing doughty and speed-full : 

But " e'en by the rule of that philosophy " 

So bright in Epictetus was I heedful 

To give the rightful due from me, — 
A scornful pity o' the thief's barbarity. 
As the slave-sage of one that stole his lamp, 
" Poor wretch," quoth I, and done. So now I tramp — 
Not so bad either — in green Waverley, 

Sucking the honey -laden air 

At morning or at evening hour, 

And drinking elixers rare 
Distilled from all the verdures ; nor than I 
Is th' enterprising bee more spry 
Who gathers from the fertile flower 
His food and his food's masonry. 

Farewell. All good and joy be unto thee ! 
I write not much — it is not granted me. 
What of 't ? —since we freehold i' the heart's persistence, 

Faith proud and pure. 
There is no friend -love like what can endure 

Silence and distance. 



207 



p. 


13- 


p. 


16. 


p. 


17. 


p. 


37- 


p. 


53- 


p. 


68. 


p. 


75- 


p. 


80. 


Pp 


. 82 



NOTES AND ERRATA 
Line 6 of Sonnet, for "persuation" read persuasion. 
Line 14 of Sonnet, for " doht " read "doth." 
Line 10 of Sonnet, for " richely " read "richly." 
Line 7 of Sonnet, for " vertues " read virtues. 
Line 1 of Sonnet, for "to" read " too." 
Line 1 3 of Sonnet, for ' l books ' ' read brooks. 
Line 5 of Sonnet, for " grow" read grew. 
In prelude for " Mathew " read Matthew. 

83. Sonnets of an Experience. The reader is asked to consider whether 
cremation of our dead be not fit for song, since verily, so worshipful is science, fire 
converteth our mortality into one of His descents when He " cometh down like rain 
upon the mown field." 

P. 106. Louis Blake Bregger, my namesake in the middle name. 

P. 108. Line 2 of Sonnet, read h for n in " midnignt." 

P. 113. Line 8 of Sonnet, for "every" read "ever." 

P. 131. In the prelude, for " bounderies " read "boundaries." 

P. 135. Sonnet CXVII. On a certain poetic time (" poetic " meaning that mj 
heart was opened in a lively manner to gentle influences of persons and things), reading ir 
Dante's Vita Nuova, I was impressed greatly with the very simple subjects and thought 
of his sonnets therein. Whereupon I determined to write a sonnet saying only some ver] 
simple and common thing, and so thinking, I decided to say nothing but that on awakinj 
of a morning I found the day was full of light and pleasantness. On this decision instantlj 
a line occurred to me, namely, "When I awoke this day, 'twas very bright;" which 
being a very simple line, and direct, and saying what I wished in few words, I liked it 
well, and determined to erect a sonnet on that line ; which I did in this sonnet. Asking 
leave to follow Dante's method to the end, I add that this sonnet is divided into three parts 
In the first is said that I found the day very bright. Here the night is made a person, setting 
forth suitably drest for traveling. In the second part light is conceived as master of th< 
palace, the palace being the day (though this word, palace, is not used before the third part), 
and the bright clouds become rosy pages. Thus is said in this part, beginning with 
" I marveled," how nobly the night is ushered away. In the third part, the pages, 
escorting the night out the front door, which metaphors the we6t, run through the palace 
to the rear door, the east, facing the garden, and there give me familiar welcome. This 
part begins with the Sestet. Now if for so simple a thought this seem much drest up 
in pictures, I answer, Are not the pictures pleasant ones, if caught well by fancy? Then 
so much is gained, provided nothing be lost in clearness of purpose. 

P. 148. Hope. " Thales, being asked 'what of all things was the most universally 
enjoyed, answered, ' Hope ; for they have it who have nothing else.' " — From Frag- 
ments of Epictetus. 

P. 149. Presence and Absence. " We ought to do well by our friends when 
they are present, and speak well of them when they are absent." — From Fragments' 
of Epictetus. 

P. 169. A Portrait. To Mrs. Maria Louise Howard, on receipt of a queenl) 
picture of her, after she had given a noble organ to the Church of All Souls, oi 
Evanston, 111. 

P. 188. Three. Helen, Marian Patra, Kathryn, lost in the fire at the Iroquois; 
Theatre, Chicago, Dec. 30, 1903, the three lovely daughters of James Carr Long an<{ 
Medora Welch Long. These verses were read at the pathetic funeral. 

P. 205. This Letter From — is not invention, but a transcription. 



